


Fulton Street

by miraclemoon



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Artistic Steve Rogers, Awkwardness, Clint Is a Good Bro, Drunken Flirting, Engineer Bucky Barnes, Falling In Love, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Mutual Pining, NSFW in later chapters, POV Alternating, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Slow Burn, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-01
Updated: 2016-10-26
Packaged: 2018-07-19 08:51:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 45,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7354171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miraclemoon/pseuds/miraclemoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Is he single?”</p>
<p>“Well,” Clint smirks, unable to hide the amusement in his tone, “What if he is?”</p>
<p>Then shit, it’s about time he pulled that Bucky Barnes charm after letting it settle dust for all these years. </p>
<p>Steve is the cute stranger who can’t seem to keep his sketchpad closed for more than 10 minutes, and Bucky’s the loser who fights back tears on the subway when he reaches the climax of his favorite book. </p>
<p>Steve is radiant and gorgeous and with a body that looks like it was crafted from marble.</p>
<p>And Bucky? </p>
<p>Well, Bucky’s…Bucky. </p>
<p>At least they have one thing in common: the c line back home to Brooklyn.</p>
<p>
  <em>2/20 update: currently under revision!</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is my excuse for writing a tooth rotting fluffy fic of these two losers falling in love. So if that's your thing, enjoy!

**Now Boarding**  

_“Passengers: For your safety and the safety of others, please stay behind the yellow line. The train is now arriving._ ”

Steve watched as only a handful of people heeded the warning of the automated voice, the majority unbothered and immersed in their technology.

He thumbed dumbly at the spiral of his notebook, checking at the monitor above as it displayed the time.

6:03 pm, right on time – down to the millisecond.

As cold air rushed through the man’s hair and the vehicle slowed before him, Steve was pleasantly surprised to see that the train wasn’t nearly as full as he expected, especially for a Thursday afternoon. There were even vacant seats available, though he hardly gave them any attention. He often opted for the corner adjacent to the door instead, leaning against an advertisement that was 2 years old. Better to leave those seats open for someone better deserving of them, he reasoned, he was sure they’d be filled by the next stop or two. Besides, he’d been sitting all day hunched over a computer and his ride home was only 30 minutes, his body was perfectly able to stand during the trip.

The rattle of wheels hitting railing and conversations amongst friends overshadowed the sound of the Mac Miller song Sam recommended to him. Though not his typical taste in music, Steve wouldn’t deny that he kept the song constantly on repeat – catchy and pulling him in with every verse. In a day or two he’d be sick of it, but for now it was all he craved. He should either invest in noise cancelling headphones or stop listening to music all together on these trips; he’d surely go deaf if he put the volume any higher.

Steve tugged at the white wire of his earphones, caressing the velvety coating with his right thumb as the train came to its next stop: Fulton street. He watched as passengers exited and entered the platform, scanning the crowd for something - someone - familiar, eyes darting fast and almost in desperation.

All it took was the sight of that worn-down navy baseball cap for the tightness in Steve's chest to falter, replaced with an airy, bashful feeling.

There he was – right on time – face stuck in a new book.

Steve swore that he went through books the same way he went through sketchpads.

He watched as the stranger took note of the nearest seat from where he entered, shoving his backpack in between his legs as his eyes remained glued onto his current page.

Today he wore his black bomber jacket, same tight dark jeans accentuating the curves of his legs, boots still scuffed at the tips, but Steve didn’t recognize that shirt – either new or just hadn’t worn it before in the times they bumped into each other. Red was a nice color on him, Steve admitted, watching as a hand rose to scratch at the stubble that prickled out of his face.

God damn it, how could someone look so good in an outfit that looked put together in a second flat? He wasn’t even trying, and yet here he was pulling Steve in with every new detail the man took note of.

It’s a goddamn gift from God Himself if your 5’ o clock shadow adds to your sex appeal instead of making you look like you were 2 days behind on sleep and 4 coffees away from a nervous breakdown. Clean cut looks matched Steve best, he realized after years of trial and error, whenever he let his hair grow out for more than a week, he’d look too much like a “lumberjack”, Tony put it. Over 6 feet tall and almost his entire wardrobe consisting of flannels, it surely wouldn’t bode well if he added facial hair into the equation. Next thing he knew he’d be moving out of Brooklyn to sell molasses to the very shop he buys his milk from.

Steve hadn’t noticed he was staring until he felt a pair of eyes land on him.

Long hooded lashes cast shadows down his cheeks and he stared up at the blond, eliciting a response when Steve had returned to his senses. Steve tensed, feeling his throat tightening.

The stranger raised an eyebrow in amusement.

Instead of looking away, they both locked eyes, both parties too stubborn to back down and greedy for the glory of this small victory.

Whoever he was, he had a stare which could melt battery acid, Steve almost felt weak under it.

Without thinking, a tight smile spread across Steve’s face and he lifted his free hand in greeting. A weak “Hi,” fell from his lips, and he stood there awkwardly, nearly knocked off his damn feet when the train came to a halt.

They’d reached their next stop, and by the time Steve had looked back at the stranger, his attention had been redirected towards his book.

Steve’s face grew hot and his ears rang. That was awkward. He could have just smiled, why was his natural response to follow it with a verbal greeting? Especially in a subway where he could hardly even hear his own music even when it was jammed into his ears?

Steve leaned back and opened at his sketchbook, grabbing the pencil he kept in the front pocket of his bag. Drawing would help distract him from how incredibly inadequate he was from embarrassing himself in a public setting.

Steve had become so focused on fixing the position of his character’s hand that he nearly missed his stop. God, did he hate hands, the longer he looked at them the more mangled and unnatural they looked – even if his friends constantly reassured him that they were fine. He never agreed with them, and that was enough to get him drawing and erasing and drawing erasing in a never ending cycle for hours on end, until he was either frustrated enough to not care anymore, or downright had to pause long enough for him to not tear the page straight out of the pad. Quickly shoving his pencil into his bag and flipping his sketchbook closed, he stepped out of the train and onto the platform, heading in the direction of his apartment. He rummaged in his bag for his scarf and hat, not wanting to bare the 20 minute walk with only his jacket and flannel. New York could be downright brutal with its winters, and he’d be damned if he let himself get sick all over again. Mid December practically left him bedridden, and he wanted to take all measures possible to prevent that from repeating in January.

Least he didn’t catch pneumonia, Steve reasoned, it was the first winter in 5 years where he didn’t, and that was an accomplishment he beamed with pride about. There were still 7 more weeks of winter left, he just had to bare it long enough for Spring to saunter back into his life and grace him with sweet, delicate sunshine kisses.

Damn could he use some sunlight right now, without the sharp wind following behind it – robbing him of any warmth. By the time Steve entered into his apartment, his fingers gripped his sketchpad so tightly he practically had to pry them out from their current position. His nose was cold and bright red, and the blankets which rested messily on his sofa looked too inviting to ignore.

He knocked his shoes off and kicked them to the right of his doorway – where he always left them – and tossed his jacket onto the sofa, watching it droop and slide off the leathery cushion and onto the floor. He exhaled an over exaggerated groan and simply walked over it as he headed into his bedroom. He’d deal with that minor inconvenience later.

Slipping into cozy pajama bottoms and a shirt which actually decently fit him, Steve stretched out onto the sofa and grabbed at his sketchpad, burrowing himself in his blankets. He flipped on the TV and enjoyed the idle hum of conversations he didn’t bother listening to, reaching for his pencil.

He always preferred drawing in direct sunlight, but granted that he returned from work long after the sun nestled back under the horizon and away from New York, he’d just have to settle with artificial lighting until March.

He’d wait to color in his sketch tomorrow before work, least he could work with some sunlight then.

* * *

“Looks like a goody-two-shoes,” Bucky stated, “Like he slips one bad word and he spends the next 20 minutes apologizing for it.”

“So not your type?”

Bucky never said that, but with his past relationships…well, he could understand Clint’s skepticism. He had the mouth of a sailor and often times settled with someone who was just as bad if not worse than him.

“If he’s as cute as you say he is, that pretty face could just be a front. Besides, what New Yorker waves to someone they don’t know in the subway? Sounds kinda sociopathic to me. If you end up on the back of a milk carton, least we know our prime subject.”

“You don’t even know what he looks like.” chided Bucky, snapping at his bubble gum.

“So? Details then – aside from tall and eye candy.”

The brunette paused for a moment, giving it a thought. “He’s the kinda person who doesn’t sit down even if there’s an open seat. Hell, he didn’t even sit when there was the whole fuckin’ row free.” He thought about that for a moment, and pouted.

It was definitely sabotaging any efforts Bucky made to try and sit next to the man.

“And he always has a sketchbook in his hand when he clearly has enough room in his bag to put it in there. I dunno how he gets anything done, what with the train shakin’ and movin’ all over the place – I can’t imagine anything comes out decent while he’s drawing on there.” Bucky couldn’t help but wonder just what it was this stranger was always drawing – another problem easily solved if the giant would just choose somewhere to sit.

“So, artsy.” Clint signed, nodding his head in thought. “What else?”

“Tall as hell – he’s got a couple inches off me.”

Clint chuckled, “This is the third time you’ve told me that.”

“Then hear it again, turn up your hearing aid if you gotta.” mouthed the scruffy faced man, signing that exact statement with accentuated vigor, “Man’s tall as a goddamn Amazonian tree and he’s got an ass sculpted straight from marble.”

“Jesus.” Clint laughed.

“His hair is knitted from gold and his eyes shine like topaz, he’s got a jaw line so sharp he could take my left arm off with it!” Bucky was too enthralled in providing a detailed, yet completely unnecessary, summary of this handsome stranger that he didn’t even hear someone enter into the tattoo parlor. He had visited Clint often enough during work that the sound of someone entering no longer triggered his attention.

“There’s _no_ way he’s single, an ass that fat’s gotta have someone else feeding it.”

“Buck – “

“And he’s got these _lashes_ , Clint,” He paused for dramatic effect, words failing him. “Might as well be a goddamn bird, he could soar across the Atlantic with lashes those huge, all he’s gotta do is blink and _bam_ –  right in the middle of fuckin’ Czechoslovakia.”

“Not Romania?” Clint raised an eyebrow.

“Unless I’m his escort then fuck no.”

“You’re cursing more than usual.” Observed the man behind the counter.

“Am not.”

“Buck, you always get a little more loose with your vocabulary when you’re excited.”

“Fuck you.” Bucky signed indignantly, and Clint chuckled. “Don’t fuckin’ laugh at me, Barton.”

“Um…” a shy voice coughed behind him, standing by the doorway. “Sorry to interrupt your conversation.”

“It’s chill man, c’mon in, I’ll be out in a second.” Bucky responded, completely unbothered. He didn’t even take a moment to look at the person he spoke to. “Anyways Clint, I’m tellin’ ya – “ shifting his body position, the brunette turned around, facing away from his companion. “Guy is a goddamn –“

His heart damn near jumped up his throat and onto the floor when he realized who was behind him.

“gem.”

* * *

Bucky could swear he was currently starring in some sort of telenovela.

For a moment, a quartet of violins replaced the screeching of car horns directly outside, and he could swear the twilight glow of sunset flooded into the tattoo parlor even if it was only 12 o’clock in the afternoon.

Though unfortunately fully clothed, his unexpected love interest rose from the trenches and now stood before the star struck man, clean cut and sharp looking as ever.

He might as well have rode in on a horse, he looked stunning. He hoped this handsome stranger couldn’t tell that he was staring, even if he totally was, and made no efforts to hide it.

Yes, this was surely a soap opera, and this moment would truly pave the path to their new love and romance. All they were missing was some foreign love interest purposely trying to impede on their happiness to add some depth to their story line – no soap opera had a clear cut happy ending this quick. Jealousy breeds from happiness and goddamn would he let himself be stripped of it by some asshole _._ Bucky eyed Clint for a moment, and practically scoffed. Looks like he was in the clear for the climax of their reunion. Or meeting. He didn’t really know if their brief glances at one another on the subway even constituted as an officially meeting. Maybe to someone else it did, but to Bucky it definitely didn’t, he was far too much of a romantic to gain satisfaction from just that.

At any moment, James Buchanan Barnes would proclaim his undying love (more like sexual attraction) to –  _whatever his name was_  – and they would ride out into the sunset to explore new and vast worlds together.

And also, y’know, learn each other’s names. That was also pretty important, Bucky guessed. 

Everything was perfect in this moment except for one thing: Bucky. 

His buttoned shirt wasn’t undone to expose the majesty of his chest hair, his eyebrows were ungroomed and thriving across his face, and there was a lack of breeze transforming his mangled hair into flawless locks.

And the smell of high-end cologne was replaced with sweat and cigarette smoke. 

He hoped that wouldn’t disappoint his potential lover, but Bucky took the young blonde as someone who preferred a person in their most authentic form, though that wasn’t to say that Bucky preferred looking anything like he currently did.

A 6 am start for someone who hated mornings brought nothing but death and disease wherever he went. He was sure this man would understand, even if he looked like he rose well before the sun does by his own accord.

Who even does that? Heathens. Looks like this story of theirs just got a lot more interesting.

Bucky hadn’t even realized how deeply this fake scenario left him invested. He entertained the thought for a second too long, and he finally felt himself return to reality.

He really had to chill on watching soap operas, they were impairing his thought process more than he was comfortable to admit. 

* * *

 “Oh.” Responded Steve, clearly just as shocked to see this stranger in the tattoo parlor. In all of Brooklyn, of course they bumped into each other in the exact same place, at the exact same time.

Again.

“Hey Steve, it’s been a while.”  greeted the man behind the counter, snapping the man out of his trance. Clint exchanged a genuine smile, and Bucky’s eyes darted back to him.

Steve?

“Hi Clint,” responded the blonde. “Yeah, 3 months.”

“You finally here to get your back finished?”

His _back?!_

“Hopefully. Finished a huge project at work, so this is me splurging.”  he smiled, his bright blue eyes huge and dilated with excitement. Holy shit was he cute, Bucky had never stood this close to him to realize just how enthralling his eyes even were. Damn, topaz was a good metaphor, too, and he wasted it before he truly understood the depth of their beauty. 

Who even had eyes that blue anymore? This Steve fellow really hit the genetic lottery.

There was a halt in the conversation, and the two strangers exchanged awkward glances. Steve had tried initiating contact with him before and failed dismally, by no fault of this stranger, of course. Should he pretend he didn’t recognize the brunette or cough up a greeting? The more he considered the former option, the more he remembered one flaw that would ruin his plan: he was a _horrible_ liar – this guy probably already caught on that Steve recognized him from the second he walked in, all doe eyed and warm with surprise. 

Sometimes Steve hated how transparent he was. 

“Bucky,” began Clint, turning to his friend. “This is one of my clients, Steve.” introduced Clint, connecting the bridge between the two men. “I’ve known Bucky since middle school.”

“Cool. Nice to meet you.” beamed the tall blonde, wondering if he should extend his arm in handshake. 

“Hey.” the brunette responded simply, raising his right hand in greeting. After practically memorizing the features on this man’s face, he was proud of himself for choking out a cool and totally not awkward response. Fuckin’ nailed it.

As they were turned to each other, Bucky felt as if a ray of sunshine was searing his corneas into the high heavens. Staring at this Steve fellow for too long felt dangerous, he was radiant and handsome and attractive in a way that Bucky just couldn’t resist, so he wouldn’t dare to turn away.

He’d rather burn.

After all, who knew if he’d ever get this close to him again? Might as well seize the opportunity while he could. 

“Bucky, I’ll see you later.” responded Clint, as he motioned for Steve to follow him into the back room. 

Steve waved goodbye, and obediently followed Clint's trail.

Bucky couldn’t help but stop to watch Steve walk away, admiring the view.

“ _Damn_.” he whispered under his breath. That was a lot to think about as he returned back to work. 

* * *

Bucky never would have taken him for someone who was interested in tattoos. His judgment was too quick, he reasoned, it was rude of him to judge someone so quickly based on the initial impression he got. After all, tall, blond and handsome – which were the first three words that came to mind when he thought about the subway stranger – didn’t really showcase much of this Steve’s personality. It was more in the fact that he had spare pencils in almost every pocket of his jeans, as if ready to take advantage of any creativity that sprung his way. It was in how he reclined from the simplest touch of strangers, and how he’d always follow them with an apology even if they ran into him. It was in how the second his notepad flew open, the world around him completely dissolved, to the point where he had missed his stop on several occasions.

Tattoos just weren’t the first thing he associated this Steve fellow with.

Though to be fair, he only ever saw him in long sleeves and button ups with undershirts that covered up to his collarbones, for all he knew his entire abdomen could be covered in ink - holding hundreds of stories in its borders.

And wasn’t that a thought.

Turns out this Steve was a lot more interesting than he initially thought.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky can't quite forget about the cute blond in the subway, and Clint makes plans for a house party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy 4th of July, everyone! And a very happy birthday to our good ol' Captain! Please enjoy the next installment to this little story, and feel free to leave a comment~

"Is he with someone?"

Clint smirked into his coffee, wrinkles forming at the corners of his eyes in utter delight. Bucky regretted those words the very moment they escaped from the cracks of his teeth, hoping Clint just hadn’t heard him – hadn’t noticed his pathetic plea of a question. In public settings which writhed with noise, most of the things he said to Clint he followed in sign language, but the jitter in his fingers kept them permanently locked on his coffee mug, desperate for some purchase to stay grounded on. To Bucky’s disappointment, amongst the roar of conversations surrounding them and the clinking of silverware and plates, for a moment he’d forgotten how damn good Clint was at reading lips. In the years they knew each other as friends, Clint didn’t even have to hear the tremor in his friend’s voice, he could imagine it just fine on his own.

Clint leaned in close, his voice deep, "Are you really that serious about him?" He didn't bother trying to hide his amusement, his smile wide and mocking. "Tired of the single life, huh?"

"Shut up." snapped Bucky, taking a drink from his coffee, hoping the act would distract from the fact his ears were a searing bright red.

It was useless though, Clint never misses a thing.

"Is he or isn't he?" pressed on the brunette.

"If I tell you, that'll be too easy."

Bucky set down his coffee, his annoyance obvious and unrelenting, " _Come_ _on_ , Clint. Do you know how hard it is to get a chance with someone you met on the subway? I gotta know if he is or isn’t so my brain knows if this wild goose chase is worth it. Pretty sure with my luck, I have a better shot surviving a fall from the Empire State Building than scoring a date with him." wow, the desperation in his voice was so heavy that he couldn’t help but feel embarrassed. He was glad Natasha wasn’t here. "I'm sure you've spent countless hours inking his back or his arm or _whatever_ , I doubt the two of you spent that time in silence.”

"He's just as shy and reserved as he looks, Buck."

Of course he was.

Bucky reclined back into his seat, nibbling at his lemon square and staring out into the street. Charcoal colored clouds hung heavy in the sky, he’d probably have to pop into a nearby CVS and grab an umbrella for his walk back home.

In his brooding and strategizing, Clint watched as his companion’s eyes crinkled, the line of his lips tight. Clint scoffed – what many interpreted as the face of a man who’d become hardened with long, painful years of strife and hardship, Clint saw it as no more than a vulnerable kid pouting. He’d known Bucky long enough to distinguish the difference between genuine anger and petty inconvenience, and his face right now? The very one that the girls in the booth in front of them were prepared to record in the event that a fight would break out? It was simply him sulking like the child he was.

Sucks for those girls that they’d need to fill up their snap stories with something more exciting and eventful, but it was New York, Clint was sure they’d find something else that peeked their interest.

Bucky was always one to guard his expressions, it made life easier. He could sit comfortably in his own silence out in public without fear of anyone bothering him while he wore his talk-to-me-and-I’ll-kill-you face – otherwise known by Clint and Natasha as his fuck-off face. He could look hard and terrifying on the outside, while in reality his heart ached over the powerful, dynamic relationship Spock and Kirk developed over their years as partners.

It was an ugly habit that persisted after high school, but it was one he'd never made the conscious effort to get rid of. At least, not until after he moved away from home for college. Even to this day, Bucky could still remember the stench of his old neighborhood, remembered all the corners and alley ways he fought tooth and nail in to salvage the money he made from his part-time job, remembered how familiar he’d gotten with roaches to the point where when he moved to his first apartment with Clint he was surprised he didn’t have scattering roommates.

He hated that place so much he spent the better part of 3 years scrapping up enough money to get his family the hell out of there, and into a nicer, more family-friendly neighborhood. It wasn’t anything glorious, but at least it helped him sleep at night knowing his family was safe.

He didn’t miss the ugly, curling paint of their apartment, not the rotting trash always left on street corners, or the tick infested mattresses laid to waste for months on end. On the day he helped his family move their belongings from their rickety living room and into their moving truck, Bucky gave the neighborhood one last final fuck-you with the raise of two pretty fingers. He dragged both hands up the length of their shitty apartment complex, down the hollow of the street – littered with old cars whose engines had gasped their final breath – and into the very sky above them. His mother hit him hard against the head with a newspaper, but Bucky simply laughed.

 If there was one thing this shithole of a neighborhood gave him, it was character, he reasoned.

In all the years he’d lived there, he learned how to square his shoulders and not break eye contact even if cigarettes were put out on his skin by punks with too much time on their hands. He learned how to fight and how to wear the face of a criminal as long as it deterred unwanted attention. This neighborhood, in all of its filth and terrible memories, taught Bucky never to take shit from anyone, and how to protect himself and his siblings whenever it came down to it. 

It was a goddamn wonder how Clint and he became friends, Bucky wasn’t exactly in the best years of his life the first time they met.

“The fuck you lookin’ at?” were the first words he ever said to the partially deaf kid, hand grazing against his split bottom lip which oozed down his chin. His nose wasn’t broken, thank God, but his left eye was puffy and red, the skin surrounding it blotched with specks of purple and blue.

Clint was looking at a kid who understood fully well the reality he lived in, and no longer bothered complaining about it. He simply gritted his teeth and puffed out his chest as he walked right into whatever mess was waiting for him. Fights no longer fazed him, Bucky just sat there against the concrete to stew in his own vexation – his eyes dark with animosity. The length of his knuckles were scratched and bruised, and Clint listened apprehensively as Bucky continued to crack at his sore fingers, his expression heavy and hard to read.

It was going to be dark soon.

Reaching into his bag, Clint handed the boy a clean handkerchief, still neatly folded and crisp since he put it in there the night before. When Bucky refused to accept it, he simply tossed it onto his knee, leaving without saying a word.

The following day, Bucky stepped over to his classmate’s desk, bandages covering the better part of his face. “Sorry, couldn’t get all the stains out,” he spoke softly, returning the discolored linen to its rightful owner. Clint simply smiled, he honestly didn’t care.

That was back in middle school.

Even to this day, over 10 years later, some habits just won’t quit. For Bucky, it was that damn ugly mug of his, and Clint never missed an opportunity to point it out.

“You keep wearing that face of yours and you’ll never find a cute gal,” Clint would comment, poking at Bucky’s cheek as he inhabited the seat in front of him, left empty and cold for his supposed date. It was in moments like these, where yet another of Bucky’s blind dates opted to leave the second they caught glance of him, that made the brunette realize that this truly was a bad habit of his he’d have to break.

This face hadn’t failed him against muggers, it hadn’t failed him against drug dealers trying to make a quick buck from burnt coke, this face hadn’t even failed him when the guidance counselor at school tried to shit on his dreams of becoming an Engineer all cause his family wasn’t made of money.

But right now?

As he sat in this little diner, chewing on the gummy underside of his cheek?

His face was failing him, dismally. All because of some pretty mouthed blond who wore too much red and blue and smelled like acrylic paint.

He was slipping. Years of comfort and security were making Bucky soft, and he couldn’t tell if he was happy for the change or frightened.

He willed his old trick to work, but the furrow of his brows and the tightness of his jaw destroyed the amazing fabrication he perfected all those years ago. Right now, nothing made him look more like a fool with a crush then the fact that he was trying so desperately to act like he clearly didn't. 

This was not Bucky’s fuck-off face.

This was Bucky’s I-haven’t-slept-in-2-days-because-my-heart-won’t-stop-thundering-like-the-sky-in-July face.

Clint was living for this moment. 

To say the least, Bucky was honestly shocked by how invested this Steve fellow made him. For someone he knew practically nothing about, he wasn't used to directing so much energy towards anyone he didn't consider family or a close friend. He didn't know what he did for work, where he went to school, how old he was – he looked like they were close to the same age? – if he was born and raised in New York or moved during his later years.

In situations where there was a potential love interest involved, he was used to being the one chased after, not actually doing the chasing. Maybe that's why his relationships never lasted very long. Bucky pondered the thought. 

It was exciting to have a new turn of events, but also incredibly frustrating when the most you know about a person is their first name and that they're secretly into tattoos, even if they look like the ideal personification of a 1940's hubby (who absolutely prohibited that sort of blasphemy in his own home). 

This Steve was tall, clean cut, and with a wardrobe now horribly outdated. Seriously, how old were his flannels? They looked like their seams were at their last couple of washes. He could hear wedding bells already. 

Clint raised his arm and asked for a refill of his coffee from the stewardess, taking a bite out of his scone as Bucky sat with an ugly expression. 

Clint waited until Bucky took his next sip of coffee to continue their conversation, deciding he allotted enough time for his partner to brood.

"He asked about you, y'know."

A smile spread across his face when he received the exact response he desired.

Hot mocha spilled over the brunettes 2001: Space Odyssey shirt, and he cursed so loud the back of the diner could hear him. "He  _did_?" he hated how desperate his voice sounded. If 13 year old Bucky could see his face now, he’d be appalled.  

Clint simply nodded, averting his gaze. 

There was a pause.

"Well?"

"Hmm?"

"What did he ask?"

"Oh,” he gasped, feigning surprise, “You wanna know?"

Bucky was 2 seconds away from committing first degree murder. 

He was always hesitant about expressing his emotions so openly,  _especially_ in a public setting, so he should have expected that Clint was far too clever to let this opportunity go to waste. 

The fiend. 

“Barton I swear to God –“

"He made some comment on how 'small the world is' like a total goof,” he answered simply, savoring another sip of coffee before continuing, “Said he saw you often on the subway, asked how long I knew you. Hell, he even apologized for interrupting our conversation, said you seemed thoroughly invested in telling me about the person who caught your eye.” Clint chuckled at the irony of it all. “Wondered if you worked near his agency since you two have a pretty synced up schedule. You sure you don't secretly have his address and wait patiently until he boards the train?"

Bucky didn't even give him the satisfaction of listening to that last part. "He works at an agency?" 

That was one new thing he learned about this Steve. He should write that down.

“What does he do for work?”

Clint shrugged. “Forgot.”

Yeah, right. If there was one thing Clint Barton was good for, it was never forgetting a single goddamn thing. It was almost supernatural how good his memory was, and he didn’t understand why or how. It made all their embarrassing stories all the more terrible, because he never forgot the details Bucky prayed he’d let slip.

"I do have some good advice for you, though,” that certainly grabbed Bucky’s attention quick. “Next time you see him, check out his hands."

Bucky looked skeptically at the man in front of him, his eyebrows furrowed. "Not everyone has a hand fetish like you do, Barton."

An ugly laugh escaped his throat, he wasn't wrong. "Trust me, it'll tell you more about him then anything.”

* * *

Bucky had reread the first sentence of his current paragraph at least 7 times.

Even as the train entered into the tunnel, he swore he could still hear the gentle scratch of graphite against fresh paper. If he tried telling Clint that, he’d surely be laughed at. 

Their shoulders were pressed against each other, and Bucky watched as Steve drew plush lips on his drawing, shading them in and making them perky.

Short wavy curls framed the length of the girl’s face, and flowers were laid gently against the frills of her dress, a few sprawled across the meat of her thighs. Bucky watched Steve gingerly begin to shade at the girls eyes, bringing light and life onto her tender expression.

He wasn’t bad, not bad at all. He could definitely make a career out of it.

He wondered if he already did.

Taking Clint’s advice, Bucky removed his gaze from the notebook and glanced further down, taking note how blotches of paint stained at his fingers and knuckles, all the way up his wrist and even at the cuffs of his flannel.

His face was entirely focused, blocking out any distractions to concentrate on the pen in his hand and the notebook on his lap.  Bucky watched as his front teeth kneaded at his bottom lip, making the flesh underneath it red as his tongue poked out and caressed at the sore skin. Steve repeated this action a few times, his lip stinging and bright when he finally relented. How did he make perfection look so effortless?

Jesus Christ.

Bucky sunk lower into his seat, willing his heart to relax.

* * *

Bucky lay curled in his living room sofa, his favorite blanket completely swallowing him whole in a tight, loving embrace. Even after years of use, he could still notice the faint smell of his mother’s perfume deep in the seams, immediately calming his nerves without fail every time he buried his nose into the lining.

After being thoroughly whipped silly by the roaring wind outside, his toes were finally warm, a hot cup of assam tea steamed relentlessly in his hands, and _Enemy Mine_ bellowed through his apartment, filling his flat with his favorite song in the entire movie: Before the Holy Drac Council.

Work dragged him in for a 6 am start this morning – he was responsible for hosting an international conference call with Shield Inc’s Britain branch to further inquire feedback from their engineers and specialists concerning his company’s newest product. Almost 2 hours in and not enough coffee later, it was at long last that many recommendations previously made to improve their products were shut down – it wouldn’t be worth their time, making such a move wouldn’t be worth the pretty penny they’d have to pay, which was exactly what Bucky had said hours ago. By the end of their call, they had come to a consensus of other areas which required additional attention, and Bucky quickly scribbled down the major issues they addressed throughout their discussion, highlighting the major points and drafting a pretty little report he’d turn into his supervisor later that morning.  He deserved a damn raise for all the good he was doing, he probably just saved their company hours of extra work and hundreds of files of paperwork to complete with his one selfless act of sacrifice.

Bucky had continued on his day as usual, and now retreated back into the warmth and comfort of his little Brooklyn studio, letting himself lay in a cozy, restful daze.

He was in paradise.

At least until his phone rang.

The vibration of his phone triggered the young man out of his sci-fi induced state. Bucky quickly grabbed the remote and paused the film, Wolfgang Petersen merited more than half of his attention on such a classical film. It better be important.  Lazily unlocking his phone, he glanced down at the illuminated screen before him.

_**I'm throwing a kickback tonight. You in?** _

Bucky read the text and practically scoffed. Did Clint really expect him to be ready to get chummy with strangers and socialize? Look presentable in public? When Petersen was practically calling his name?

He answered simply, **caught me in the middle of a movie**

No more than 2 seconds later did he receive a response. _**So? Finish it later.**_

In all his 25 years of life, Bucky had never heard something so blasphemous before.

Start a movie…without finishing it!?

_**Don't flake, you’ll regret it.** _

Surely not as much as he regretted having one of Clint's parlor mates flirt with him after 10 shots of tequila the last time he hosted a kickback. Next thing he knew they were sloppily making out on Clint’s sofa and Nat broadcasted it on her twitter and snap story. That was a real nightmare.

_**Jake won’t be there.** _

How in the hell did he read his mind when he was miles away?

 **and if I don’t go?** Bucky inquired, wanting desperately to stay in the comfort of his cozy sofa and beloved soundtrack.

_**Your ass will regret it, Barnes :)** _

Did this bastard really just add a smiley face to that text?

Bucky groaned so loud he was sure the neighbors would hear. ~~~~

He could stay in, finish his film, get back to his book and maybe cook dinner instead of ordering take out like he was intending to. He wouldn’t have to worry about putting on tight pants or fixing his hair, he could let his mane be wild and free instead of held tight into place with gel or hairspray.

Hell, he could probably even give his dad a quick call, check in on the old man, ask how he and the family had been since he last gave them a ring. At this hour they’d be finishing up dinner and switching on the TV before their show started, but he was sure they’d appreciate the chat even if it was only for a few minutes.

He looked back at his phone, biting at the inside of his cheek. It wasn’t often that Clint was so adamant on him showing up to any parties he hosted, and his curiosity was driving him up the goddamn wall.

**what’s the occasion**

**_Have fun and get drunk!_ **

Bucky snorted, Clint was such a dork. **you sure you want me drunk in your house again?** _”_ It was an honest question.

**_Seriously, I’m doing you a huge favor. Don’t let it go to waste._ **

Bucky’s shrugged his shoulders, relenting.  **time?**  he responded back, following it with an annoyed emoji.

**_Be here at 9. And don’t smell or look like trash._ **

**yes, your highness**

**_You’ll thank me later ;)_ **

God, what a chode.

* * *

Graphite covered at the underside of the blond man’s hand, streaking and running across the untouched corners of his sketchbook.

“Steve,” called out Sam from the kitchen, staring down at his phone. The artist made the faintest sound, a low hum to signal that he was paying attention. Well, at least a little.

“Clint’s throwing a party at his place, and you’re going.”

Steve didn’t even bother setting down his pencil, he simply continued shading the pleats of the young girls skirt. He didn’t have any possible excuse as to why he couldn’t go, so he just hoped that Sam would take his apathy without question and recognize that any efforts to sway him would be fruitless.

“You’re not getting out of this one, Rogers.” smirked the handsome man, plopping himself down on the arm rest to Steve’s right. “You still owe me.”

“For what?” scoffed the artist, not even raising his head to initiate eye contact.

Sam leaned in closer, the corners of his lips tugged into a smile.

“Don’t tell me you’ve already forgotten about what happened in Harlem.”

Steve damn near snapped his pencil in half. No alcohol in the world could _ever_ make him forget about that cursed day. He still had nightmares that woke him up in the middle of the night with sweat drenched sheets.

Steve inhaled a deep breath, setting his pencil down. He stared up at his beloved friend, willing the strength to fight his way through this.

“Alright, I get it.” he stated simply, redirecting his attention to his right-hand man. “I know you want me to go out and be social, but why not save the blackmail for another time? It’s just a party, right? Can’t be anything too special.”

“Probably not,” Sam admitted, shrugging his left shoulder, “but you’re still going. Clint told me to bring you with me.”

Steve couldn’t help but cock his head to the side. _“Why?”_ the question came out as a nasally whine.

Sam laughed through his teeth. “Fam, I know it’s hard to understand, but some people _actually_ enjoy your company.” he squeezed at his friend’s shoulder – that dumb smile still plastered on his face. “Shocker, right?”

“Screw you.” exhaled the blonde, placing his sketchbook on the coffee table in front of him. He wasn’t even half done with his drawing yet. “And what if I don’t go?” inquired Steve, wondering just how much he’d have to pay for a quiet night in.

“Then I’m sure Clint, Natasha, Tony, and all his other mates would love to hear how your ass got so drunk last year you roller-scatted naked down the streets of Harlem in nothing but those pretty little 4th of July shorts you love so much," Sam began, eyebrow raised, "The sparklers were a night touch though, not gonna lie -" 

“Okay, okay!” Steve shouted, raising his hands in defeat. God, he hated that story more than he hated the actual act of being blackmailed. “When should I be ready by?” asked the frustrated blond, rising from his seat as he peeled off his sweater – he’d have to go shower.

“Let’s leave in an hour. I’ll figure out your outfit for you while you get cleaned up.”

“I’m not going on a date, Sam, that’s not necessary.”

“Oh yes it is, you gotta take advantage of all opportunities, Rogers. You never know, you might meet someone new.”

Steve rolled his eyes, leaving the living room. “I’ve met Clint’s friends before.”

“Doesn’t mean he ain’t bringing a new face!”

“Yeah, yeah.” waved Steve, completely uninterested.

By the time Steve finished his shower, Sam had moved nearly all of the clothes in his closet onto his bed, rearranging them into multiple piles and sections.

Whether they were separated due to color, pattern, or tightness, Steve had no clue, he couldn’t figure out Sam’s thought process in the 15 minutes he left him alone.

“This is your maybe pile, your no pile, and your let’s-check-first pile.”

“Okay.” with all that was scattered across his bed, he was surprised Sam didn’t go through his underwear or socks too.

Sam tossed Steve a shirt and pair of pants from the latter section, eyeing them hopefully.

“Isn’t this shirt too out of place?” Steve reasoned, “This is a dress shirt.”

“You wanna stand out, don’t you?”

Being 6’2 and over 200 pounds made it impossible for him to not stand out.

“C’mon, we don’t have all the time in the world, Rogers. Need me to step out?”

Steve rummaged through his drawers and pulled out a pair of briefs. “Nah, just gimme a second.”

So much for a quiet night in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Next update will be on July 8th ^^


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's party time in the Barton household. Step one: bring wine. Step two: talk to the loser hiding away in the kitchen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope all you lovelies had a safe and happy 4th of July! Enjoy the third installment of this story~

Bucky adjusted at the waist band of his pants, a bottle of 2013 Hall Napa Valley wine grasped tightly in his right hand. As great as these pants looked on him, they were sucking the ever loving life out of him.

He stood on the second step which led up to Clint’s home, the bite of the wind stinging at his uncovered ears. Bringing a hand to smooth at the collar of his shirt, Bucky could hear the faint thrum of conversations behind the front door, Clint’s living room clearly alive and thriving with guests.

Bucky rummaged through his pocket and quickly pulled back out his cell phone, rereading the conversation he and Clint had a few hours prior.

If there was one thing Clint Barton wasn’t, it wasn’t a spontaneous man, unless it directly correlated to something formulated for Laura’s benefit. In all the years Bucky knew him, he dedicated weeks at a time into organizing even the simplest of parties or events, desperate for the most trivial of details to be perfected and refined, so for him to have never brought up this party in the many conversations they had in this week alone, Bucky couldn’t help but cock an eyebrow in suspicion.

If he’d been so hush-hush about it, maybe it really was something that edged more on the serious side – stemmed from intentions which didn’t solely focus on socializing and sharing a beer or two.

He’d been married for a few years now, and Bucky was no stranger to Clint’s desire to one day take on the role of a father. Was Laura expecting?

No, Bucky quickly shook his head at the thought, completely scratching that option out. If the evening was centered on drinking alone, he doubted he’d make such a huge announcement with that sort of connotation, especially since Laura would just stand there, sipping the nearest non-alcoholic beverage she could grab while her guests unraveled before her very eyes.

 ** _I’m doing you a huge favor_**. Bucky’s eyes scanned over the text in meticulous concentration, scanning each word as if his stare alone could unlock the secret behind its lettering. The entire subway ride to Clint’s house was kept in deep though – a little too deep then necessary, he concluded, but present all the same.

Bucky shook at his head, running a hand to gently push down any fly-aways which beckoned to rebel against his generous layer of hairspray. Adjusting his posture back into a confident position, a soft smile spread across his face.

This was a night to have fun, he might as well humor Clint and be the good, fun guest he clearly loves.

The door was answered before he gave his third knock, and a familiar red head stood at the entrance, scarlet locks bouncing in place.

“Long time no see, Buck.” the woman spoke, a small hint of amusement in her voice.  

“It’s been like a week, Nat.” smirked the brunette, stepping forward to bring her in for a tight hug. “But, sure, good to see you, _I guess_. Still rockin’ nothing but black, I see?” he commented, eying her form fitting dress.

“And I see you still haven’t fixed this mess you call hair.” slender fingers raised to his head and ruffled at the tuffs of hair too short to fit under his ponytail, sending a few strands out of place.

“So what, you gonna play bouncer and keep me out here in the cold? After I decided to dress all pretty for the crowd?”

She scoffed in response, “Thanks for the wine, you can go now.”

Bucky melodramatically brought a hand up to his chest, scrunching his face up in pain. “You’re cold as stone, Romanoff.” he gasped, feigning injury.

Natasha responded with an overly dramatic roll of her eyes, sliding the door open wider to grant the new guest access. “Y’know, you actually make a great bouncer. You ever consider integrating that in your work environment?”

“I doubt that’d do much good for my reputation if people were too scared to even hire me as their lawyer.” she reasoned, eyebrow raised.

“Hey, all I’m saying is if I was on the defense, I’d be shitting myself if the person I had to argue against could rip a man’s arm off in a seconds notice. That should be on your new bulletin board – in big red text. Everyone wants a reliable, in-charge person defending their name when you’re in a hell hole like New York.”

Natasha hadn’t even given Bucky the satisfaction of a response, she simply made her way back into Clint’s humble home, ready to cut off the breeze that was seeping through the doorway.

Walking inside, Bucky followed behind the red head, scanning the crowd of people who littered Clint’s living room. “So,” he began, noticing Stark speak lividly about the upcoming release of the new iPhone 7 with Rhodey, Thor nodding in response and clearly trying his best to keep up. He couldn’t tell if Stark was either excited or absolutely enraged, the tone in his voice made the distinction impossible to make. “Did Barton tell you what the occasion was?”

“Not much need for an occasion to see friends.” she reasoned. Bucky nearly stopped in his tracks, that was actually a decently sweet response lacking in sarcasm.

“Valid point,” nodded Bucky, eyeing the crowd. There weren’t very many faces he hadn’t recognized from his quick scope of the place, and he was pleasantly surprised to see that Clint followed through with his word: no Jake. That was one less thing to worry about. A large, wide window panned through the length of his host’s brookstone home, filling in the living room with the orange glow of street lights and gentle specks of faraway apartments illuminated with light. Paintings and pictures of his wedding delicately framed the walls adjacent to Bucky’s currently position, and succulents lined down the length of his windowsill. Clint’s place was lovely as always, spotless and well maintained, it put Bucky’s little studio apartment to shame. Sure, he had pictures of his family, but more often than not the posters that added life to his home were of his favorite tv shows, with the occasional signed portrait or two by some of his favorite comic book authors.

Bucky proceeded to close the door behind him, already taking the step forward to rid himself of the beverage in his hand, “I’m just saying, we could have just gone to a bar, why go through the trouble of –“

Holy shit.

In the moments that the world stopped around him, Bucky walked straight into the coat rack to his left, attracting the attention of a few nearby guests as a series of curses spilled from his lips. _Good old Bucky’s here, clumsy as ever_ , he heard a voice ghost from the living room, followed with a humored chuckle. That was definitely going to leave a bruise, his knee slammed right into the metal pole with a resounding _clunk_ , the item vibrating in place from the force exerted on it. Bucky stepped back, his eyes unfocused for a moment. The blemish that would blossom on his perfect knee wasn’t important; it was a mere triviality amongst the grand scheme of things which proceeded to unravel at his very feet.

“You’ve been here for 40 seconds, maybe try and not break Clint’s stuff until _after_ you’re drunk?” Nat smirked, clearly not bothering to hide how comical she found her friend.

“Oh my god,” gasped the brunette, a hand on his stinging knee, “Where’s Clint?” the question was urgent, his eyes wide and in shock. Bucky straightened his back instinctively, squared his shoulders, did what he could to fix his posture and salvage his appearance – hunched over with a hand on his damn knee was the most unattractive way he could look right now.

“In the back.” pointed Natasha, her lips curled and devious.

Noticing Clint speaking with a fellow coworker in the direction opposite of the kitchen, his eyes quickly returned back to Natasha, whose smile was relentless and all-knowing, much more so then it usually was. Her arms snaked lazily across her chest, and a raised eyebrow only answered Bucky’s suspicions.

“D…Did you kno-“

“Buck!” a heavy hand patted firmly at Bucky’s back, nearly knocking the man forward on his face. He noticed the smell of hard liquor before he even felt the impact. “It is good to see you, my friend!”

“Hi Thor –“ smiled Bucky, pulled into a tight embrace which sucked the breath right out of him, “Good to see you, too.” he genuinely was happy to see him, but it was hard to match that with an appropriate response when his brain gave off the equivalent of radio static.

“I hope you did not forget about our unsettled competition from last time,” elbowed the Norse man, his hand tightening on Bucky’s shoulder, “You still owe me a rematch, I refuse to admit that you defeated me in the act of drinking.”

A nervous laugh escaped from Bucky’s lip as he clasped a hand over Thor’s arm. All he remembers from that night was that it was a gift from God that he actually beat Thor by a fragment of a second anytime they took shots, and that he woke up the next morning in Clint’s apartment with the worst hangover of his life.

Clint warned him that drinking with Thor was dangerous, because if he knew Bucky – which he did, a little too well – he knew Bucky was far too competitive to back down even if he was on the brink of alcohol poisoning. But damn, did Thor know how to make someone believe their limit was much higher than it actually was. After the vodka shots they moved to scotch, after the scotch they brought out the Jack Daniels, and in the middle of making pina coladas at 2 in the goddamn morning they passed out on Clint’s kitchen floor, mini paper parasols still in their hands.

It brought back fond memories of his college days. Fond, terrifying memories. Memories that would make his parents cry.

It was one of the few times in his life that he blacked out from a night of drinking, and he definitely didn’t want a repeat of it.

“Don’t worry, Thor, I came prepared this time, I have the Poison Control Center on speed dial.” joked Bucky, winking at his tall friend.

Thor exhaled a hearty laugh and loudly clapped at Bucky’s shoulder, receiving a grunt in response.

“I’ll see you in a bit, I’m going to go pay my respects to the host.” responded the brunette, nudging his head in the direction of Clint.

“But of course! I await with much excitement.” heading back into the main crowd, a strained smile spread across Bucky’s face. This was going to be a long night, and he had yet to address the biggest issue he currently faced.

“Please _try_ and not black out again.” advised Natasha, an eyebrow perked, “You’re not 18, I don’t think that would be the best way to have a certain _someone_ notice you, and it doesn’t really leave the best impression.”

Bucky could feel his palms sweating, and he was glad he settled for a short sleeve under his coat instead of his red Henley he originally had planned. Sweat stains weren’t very attractive, especially not on the pits.

Bucky looked at Natasha, opening his mouth in an effort to say something, only for it to close promptly in silence. What was he supposed to say? _Hey, Nat, how did you even know about any of this? Clint’s not much of a gossip unless I’m directly in the room, and I certainly never introduced the subject to you. I get that you got eyes everywhere, but how on earth –_

“I’m going to get a drink,” Natasha stated, leaving the dumbfounded man alone, scattering his thoughts. “I’m sure Clint will be happy to see you.”

Oh, he was positive he’d be absolutely _overjoyed_.

Making his way through the crowd, and greeting several friends in the process, exchanging gentle smiles that masked how absolutely dazed he was, he caught Clint in the middle of a conversation with a coworker, unaware that he was still furiously grasping the wine bottle in his hand, as if that was the one and only thing keeping him grounded and weighing him down from shooting through the goddamn roof from all the energy writhing in his veins.

Not that he could go into the kitchen and drop it off, anyways.

“Hey, Buck!” greeted Clint, a huge smile extending across the man’s face. “Glad to see you finally showed your face around here.”

A small chuckle escaped from Bucky’s throat. “I’m glad to be here,” responded Bucky, clearly accentuating each syllable as he spoke. Given the roar of conversations surrounding them, he didn’t want to assume that Clint would hear him just fine. The man may still have 30% of his hearing left, but it was practically reduced to nothing when Thor stood no more than 10 feet away from them, laughing at some piss poor joke that Stark made to humor him.

The brunette stepped closer, pulling in his friend for a hug, “Thanks for hosting this shin-dig, Clint.” Bucky felt his body physically recline the second that sentence left his lips, his face visibly scrunching.

Shin-dig?

_Really?_

What was he, transported back to 8th grade where he consciously picked the most outrageous words to integrate into his daily vocabulary just to annoy the ever loving fuck out of his friends and teachers?

God, he couldn’t be anymore nervous even if he tried – he was already sweating through his shirt and clearly forgot how to formulate speech appropriate amongst adults instead of toddlers.

“Hey Rosie, you mind if I borrow Clint for a second?” Bucky inquired, mustering a half-decent smile which fooled any outsider into realizing that he was in the middle of handling a crisis situation. And he was, if the thrum of his heartbeat and the goosebumps lining up his arms were indication enough.

 “’Course, Bucky,” replied the blue haired girl, running a hand through her dyed locks. She gave the taller man a quick look over, as a small smile pursed on her scarlet lips, “’s been a while since I’ve seen ya, looks like your hairs long enough to tie up. Looks damn good,” she purred, slowly stepping away and running a hand over his shoulder until she navigated deeper into the crowd of the living room.

Bucky instinctively brought a hand over to his messy ponytail, finding a loose lock that slipped from his band and tucking it behind his ear. He appreciated the compliment; it made his little stunt a few minutes ago feel a little less painful. He just hoped to all hell that he actually _did_ look good and wasn’t being fed flattery that stemmed from pity, he couldn’t afford anything shy of perfection at the moment.

Fuck, he should have shaved.  He already running late, he might as well have made it worth it.

Once alone, Bucky moved closer to Clint, his eyes alive and animated. “Alright Barton, start talking. You were just going to invite me over without telling me _he_ was coming?”

“Oh, you noticed him,” the shorter man stated simply, “That’s great.”

Bucky returned that snide comment with the dirtiest look he could muster, his lips pursed in mild irritation.  “ _Notice him_? Barton, your kitchen is 4 steps away from the front door, and I’m not gonna put a bottle of wine in the damn closet where everyone’s shit goes. How could I _not_ notice him?”

“Hey, I told you not to smell or look bad, right?” he took a sip from his wine, raising an eyebrow, “And you took my advice, showered and even put on cologne – smart move. Plus, you picked an awesome outfit, those pants make your ass look great and the shirts pretty flattering, too.” he stated simply, clearly enjoying just how frayed his companion’s expression looked. “Don’t fix your hair though, Nat did it justice,” he pointed at the fly aways, the little tuffs that remained rebellious; “Sam says Steve likes hair a little more on the messy side.”

“Who the hell is Sam?”

“Steve’s wing man, we also go to archery together every month – man’s got the vision of a hawk, makes a great partner. He’s my connection to Steve and I’m your connection to him.”

Bucky couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed, turning his head back to look at the tall man for the first time since he entered into his friend’s home. He stood leaning against the kitchen counter, red cup in hand as an old college friend of theirs stepped a little too close to him for comfort.

Even at this distance, he watched one of Steve’s brows twitch slightly, the act an identical replica whenever anyone would bump into him on the subway. It bordered on, sorry-you-stepped-on-my-foot and you’re-standing-a-little-too-close-for-comfort-but-I-don’t-want-to-be-rude.

The girl speaking to him was cute, but Emily _always_ looked cute, Bucky grumbled. She was the kinda girl with a face you just couldn’t forget, knew how to blow kisses so sweet that they’d send men into cardiac arrest a moment later. To Bucky’s relief, Steve didn’t look thoroughly invested, didn’t look like he was buying into all her tricks, but nonetheless, his chest felt warm and heavy in a way that he could only identify as jealousy. He didn’t even know if this Steve fellow was straight, but if he was, he sure as hell hoped she wasn’t his type.

Bucky hated how that was the first thing that came to mind when he saw the two together. Though, he figured he’d feel that way regardless of _who_ he saw Steve speaking with, it just only made the situation worse when the person occupying his space was flashing him bedroom eyes like a goddamn lighthouse would illuminate the sea deep in the hours of the night. That made Bucky feel a little less like trash for being so possessive over someone he had no justification for, but still. He admitted it, he was a jealous piece of trash – someone give him a medal for being so honest with himself. 

“Emily’s been on his arm since the second he walked in here, so I’m sure the man could use a change of company.” Clint suggested, as if he was doing him a favor. From the look on Steve’s face, he certainly was. “I’ll go strike up some conversation with her, and you can put that wine in some ice and not carry it around like a damn alcoholic anymore. Pour yourself a drink, than go say hi before someone else beats you to it. Simple. Now you two won’t know each other as strangers, and hopefully you hit it off.”

It was a solid plan, except for the fact that Bucky’s wit and smarts were off on vacation, leaving him to sit in nothing but a soggy puddle of nervousness and anxiety. Quite frankly, he doubted the alcohol would take the edge off this time, especially when someone as attractive as Steve would be looking at him, dedicating attention to him, expecting him to be able to formulate proper sentences instead of a stream of _um’s_ or curses. It wasn’t what they were used to, the two had become accustomed to simply occupying the same space without a single interactions – it was far from chummy. For all he knew, the possibility of this conversation just being a total fuck up would make their future train rides all the more awkward, now they’d remember each other as the guy without the personality.

Well, he could never see Steve like that, even with the little information he knew about him, but Bucky was certain that his incoherence would plaster that label straight over his forehead in just a few short moments. He wouldn’t blame Steve for it, not for even a second, the horrible impression Bucky was about to give was by no one’s fault but his own.

 “C’mon Barnes,” Clint chided, clearly picking up the anxiety that spiked through his friend’s expression, “Use some of those smooth skills that scored you all those dates back in college, don’t let tonight go to waste. You got this.”

Patting his back, Clint navigated his way towards the kitchen, doing exactly as he said he would. In a few short moments, Emily followed her coworker out of the kitchen, and Bucky watched as Steve’s shoulders visibly relaxed. He looked tired, he almost wanted to give the man a breather.

Almost.

Clint turned back to Bucky, cocking his head in the direction of the kitchen. “ _Go_.” he signed from across the room with his free hand, redirecting his attention towards the cute blond before she suspected a thing.

Bucky’s feet stepped forward before his brain could comprehend that he was moving.

_Here you go, Barnes, there’s no backing down now._

_All you gotta do is go up to him, strike up some conversation, and hopefully the stars overhead will take it from there and map the rest of your lives together without a seconds hesitation_ , because Bucky knew all his energy would be solely dedicated to not sounding or looking like a total dork in front of this painfully attractive yet adorably awkward man hiding in the kitchen.

 _All you have to do_ , Bucky swallowed hard _, is not fuck this up._

Before he knew it, his shoes no longer stepped on hardwood, but had now taken refuge over the speckled kitchen tiles. Bucky settled the wine alongside the unopened bottles adjacent to the fridge, burying it deep into the ice container as the movement of cubes mimicked the very sound of static ringing through Bucky’s head. From how hard he was gripping the neck of the bottle, the poor beverage was either already room temperature or scalding hot.

Bucky moved over to the rum and poured himself a bit into a fresh cup, adding a little coke to the beverage. If he was going to be drinking with Thor tonight, which he prayed to God wouldn’t go as horribly as last time, he couldn’t afford to get tipsy just yet, especially when he was going against someone who inhaled alcohol like it was more important than air itself. He just needed something to get his blood flowing, bring back everything that chose to settle down on his feet during the height of his anxiety.

Bucky sampled the drink, enjoying the heavy taste on his tongue. The worst thing that would happen is that Steve didn’t remember him, and the conversation they’d make would end up dry and without an ounce of appeal. Forgettable, would stick to him like an old post it note, worn out and useless. When he’d enter the conversation, Bucky wasn’t expecting fireworks to come sparking in every direction, wasn’t expecting them to fall madly and deeply in love the second one of them said something that at most garnered a quick laugh. Real life wasn’t nearly as clean cut as his soap operas (which either ended with people in love, heartbroken, or dead; there really weren’t many other options). Hell, Bucky wasn’t even hoping for this Steve to humor him with idle small talk that he clearly wasn’t invested in, Bucky was just hoping for …

A chance.

A shared interest, hobby, _anything_ to make their conversation not feel like a total waste of time. From what he knew, Steve looked well built and clearly upheld his physical wellbeing with quiet some dedication, and even if the gym hadn’t seen Bucky’s face in well over 3 weeks, he was still no stranger to the occasional evening jog.

Oh God, but then he just sounded like a total bro who only knew how to talk about working out and protein shakes and the next thing he knew he’d be spouting out half way through his drink _how much do you lift, bro?_

Bucky had to pause for a moment, a small smile circling on his lips. No, he wouldn’t ever get _that_ bad, Bucky couldn’t help but chuckle. He was over thinking things, as he so often did, and nothing good ever comes to those who hyper analyze a situation to the point where they no longer realize the most obvious facts at hands.

And the facts were that they had a mutual friend. It was a Friday night. They were two adults with at least 25 years worth of stories to share – he was sure they’d find _something_ to talk about.

Bucky glanced over at Steve through his periphery, feeling his chest swell. God, he was gorgeous. Maybe that was one thing they’d bond over: their striking good looks.

Bucky would slide right over to that pretty blond, his eyes dazzling as his voice lowered by a few notches. All insecurities gone, he’d ooze nothing but confidence and cheap cologne. _‘Hi there –‘_ he’d begin, swirling his drink in his hand, a curious smirk plastered onto his face, _‘I’m pretty, you’re pretty, let’s go home and stare at each other.’_

The rum burned down his throat as he laughed to himself, bringing his spare hand up to his chest to coax the beverage into his stomach. It was so bad that Bucky felt the burn all the way up to his nose, it was embarrassing. The internet was ruining him, he needed to spend more time outside.

Taking a moment to compose himself and step away from the shit storm that was his thoughts, Bucky took a deep breath, willing himself to focus on the chill of the counter tiles against his fingers, the air in his lungs which now felt too sparse.

 _Alright, Barnes, relax._ He breathed, closing his eyes for a moment. _One more sip then go talk with –_

“You go by Bucky, right?”

The voice was gentle – hesitant – a mere whisper amongst the bellow of conversations that bounced through the walls before them, and yet the brunette damn near jumped straight out of his jacket, out of his pants, and out of his own very own skin the second his brain registered those careful words.

Yet miraculously, with none other than with the grace of God Himself, Bucky managed to turn around to face the source of that beautiful, incandescent voice like he actually had a functioning body he was in control of. A gentle smile formed across Bucky’s face, welcoming and clearly open for conversation.

Well, that was certainly unexpected.

Bucky couldn’t say _why_ he wasn’t anticipating this, Steve was clearly a living, breathing, horribly attractive person who had a will of his own. Yes, he definitely _could_ start the conversation, and he _did_.

But was Bucky expecting him to? Absolutely not. He assumed the poor man was sick of strangers making small talk with him and wanted to be left alone, not wanting to make the effort to endanger his solitude from being threatened with a new person.

This entire night was just filled with surprises, and Bucky wasn’t even sure if they were in his favor or not.

Regardless, Bucky could feel a smile naturally emulate from his face, spreading warmth over his cheeks.

Holy shit, Steve actually remembered his name in the two seconds they met in the tattoo parlor. He wanted to laugh, it was pathetic how a gesture that small radiated through his entire body, warmed the blood that had stood still in his veins from the constant worrying. The act was so powerful it made flowers blossom in Bucky’s lungs.

The only problem now was that he couldn’t breathe.

“Hey, Steve,” began the brunette, stepping closer to the blond, “I’m not going to lie, wasn’t expecting you to remember me,” he chuckled. It was an entirely truthful statement.

“Well, you’re Clint’s friend,” he stated simply, glancing down to his drink, “And you left quite the impression the last time we met.”

The smile remained plastered on his face, but Bucky’s stomach sank down to his feet. Of course he remembered Bucky as the friend who was so hung up on someone he was practically screaming it to the high heavens like a religious nut spoke of the gospel or bible. Of course he had to talk about his crush in Clint’s workplace, where said work place also served this beautiful angel as one of their customers.

Of course he was the idiot that let all of that happen.

“I’m guessing you’re hiding out in the kitchen?” inquired Bucky, not wanting to focus on how he practically embarrassed himself in front of the most attractive person he knew without even realizing it. He eyed the crowd outside in the living, watching as Clint invited in a few more guests who strolled in late.

“Yeah, I’ve never been one for parties,” admitted the taller man sheepishly, his gaze not meeting Buck’s.

Bucky leaned against the counter, eyebrow raised, “Friend drag you here?”

“Mhmm.”

Such a lazy response never sounded so good coming from anyone else.

“You’re not alone. I was actually in the middle of a movie when Clint texted me to come over. I honestly would have rather stayed in then go out. Some nights you don’t wanna have to worry about making yourself look presentable, y’know?”

Steve chuckled, “Oh, I know,” he nodded, “But for someone who didn’t want to go out, you look good.” he couldn’t help but eye the brunette’s outfit, trying not to let his stare linger for too long. With only just the two of them in the kitchen, it would be far too obvious that he was gawking, and he didn’t want to suddenly show up on Nat’s snapchat story with his face zoomed in and heart emoji’s over his head. Still, anytime Steve removed his stare, it quickly found its way right back to the brunette, catching sight on something new about the man in front of him. All the way from his ruffled hair to his shiny shoes, Bucky looked so well put together and entrancing, where even something as simple as his cologne was pulling Steve in by the collar of his shirt, beckoning him to step closer – close the gap between them. He could just sink into those eyes, they were warm and mysterious and oh so inviting that they made Steve’s cheeks flush.

“You look pretty good yourself, Steve.”

Steve felt his throat tighten at the compliment.

“You’ve been inside for a couple minutes, not going to shed your coat off?”

“Oh.” Bucky responded, looking down at himself, “Whoops, totally slipped my mind.” laughed the scruffy faced man, setting his drink down to remove his jacket. It was no wonder he was sweating bullets, wearing an extra layer while he stood so close to the sun’s equivalent wasn’t helping his situation at all.

After leaving for a moment to hang it alongside the other guest’s coats, he returned to Steve pouring himself another drink. Bucky watched as his fingers eagerly wrapped around his glass, seeking comfort in being entrusted with even the simplest of tasks. The man in front of him clearly needed something to occupy his hands with, especially since his usual outlet wasn’t applicable for this setting.

Once he returned, Bucky slipped back into his regular position, slightly leaning against the counter as he positioned his body language to face the blue eyed beauty in front of him.

Bucky watched as those pearly orbs moved down his face and locked on his left arm, dilating slightly. He completely forgot that his sleeves were rolled up his elbows, exposing a great bit of the ink that engulfed the skin from where his short sleeve rested to the cusp of his wrist.

He may have sacrificed warmth for fashion – which he often did anyways – but never would he have imagined it’d be great fuel to keep this conversation of theirs from dying down.

“Clint did it.” Bucky smiled, lifting his arm, “Not all at once, of course, I added things here and there over the years, just didn’t think it would take up my entire left arm.”

He rolled his sleeve up higher, exposing more of his numerous tattoos.

Steve was totally locked on, completely entranced. God bless you, Clint.

“It looks great,” he said simply, leaning in closer, “Man, Clint really has a knack for that.” Steve was thoroughly impressed, unconsciously moving closer. “My buddy Sam told me about him. He got some work done a couple years back, so when I started showing interest too, Clint was the only person he recommended.”

Bucky beamed at the new information, genuinely interested. “In case you were curious, he actually didn’t get into wanting to be a tattoo artist until half way through college. It was hilarious, back in middle school we always joked that I drew the better stickman, and here he is, permanently inking people for a living.”

That made Steve laugh, and Bucky felt a rush of warmth rise from his chest to his face that the comment was well-received.

“You two went to the same college?”

“Mhmm.”

“And you met in…middle school?” Steve asked with hesitancy, unsure if he remembered correctly. Bucky nodded to the question, clearly impressed with the taller man’s memory. “That’s actually really awesome, practically grew up together and you two embarked on college together.”

“To be fair, we didn’t really become friends until High School, I was kinda a shit show before I turned 13,” Bucky admitted, taking a sip of his drink.

Steve grinned at the comment, “Hey, weren’t we all?” he countered, shrugging his left shoulder. “If you don’t mind me asking, what did you major in, Bucky? How’s life looking for you?”

“I majored in Engineering, and now I work at Stark Industries.” he answered simply.

“Wow, Engineering?” Steve lit up, it should be a crime to be handsome and smart all at the same damn time. “That’s really impressive. You see Stark there often?”

 “Only when he’s running through the halls and yelling at his intern to get him a coffee.”

“Yeah,” nodded Steve, “Classic Stark. That Parker kid still his intern?”

“How’d you know?”

“I’ve met him before, nice kid. Probably one of the only people on earth who idolizes Stark enough to deal with his bullshit.”

 _“I heard that!”_ a shrill voice erupted from the living room.

The entire scene was straight out of a sitcom, guests smirking and giggling as Stark promptly responded to his friend’s remark with sticking his tongue out at him, identical to how a child would. Once their giggles and laughs had passed, Bucky managed to take a sip from his drink without choking on it, his heart finally slowing in its pace.

“How about yourself, Steve? I take it you’re the artsy type, what with the fact you always keep your sketchpad glued to your hand whenever you ride the subway.”

A careful observation Steve was prepared for but not expecting to be brought up. It almost made him feel a little shy, knowing he left a strong enough impression for Bucky to actually remember such a trivial detail. Steve stared down at his drink, trying to hide his nervousness. He responded as casually as possible, “I do graphic design a couple blocks away from Stark’s place, at an advertising agency. Nothing nearly as complicated as manufacturing new technology for the public.”

“I dunno about that. I took an art class back in college – it was the closest class I was to failing, and I took Calculus III.”

“Jesus,” giggled the taller man, “I’m guessing your stick figures didn’t cut it?”

“They sure as hell didn’t, and it was a damn shame.” Bucky shook his head in dissatisfaction, Steve unable to keep his eyes off his face for more than a few seconds. “No wonder it takes artists a hell of a long time to get the hang of it, anytime I tried making something all the colors just kinda…muddled together. Ended up looking too brown or grey, too boring," he stated simply, recalling all of his failed portraits and art experiments. He had spirit, and it was just enough for his professor to pity him with a passing grade. He was in the Engineering program and it was the first time he ever held a paintbrush, so given his circumstances he thought he did a pretty good job. 

“Can’t expect it to look perfect the first try," Steve reassured empathetically, "Hell, you can’t even expect that until the hundredth time or so, takes a whole lot of practice and patience,"

He couldn’t even help the next question that followed, “Do you paint?” suddenly looking down at Steve's hand, hyper aware of the times he saw paint stuck to his fingers. Today there wasn't a trace, but it left him excited all the same.

Steve nodded simply, taking note of the quick glance Bucky gave him. He felt a little nervous, talking about himself so openly. He answered, "First started seriously painting the beginning of my Senior year of High School, so I began pretty late, given that most of my classmates from college had paintings back from when they were 13,"

"And I'm sure without those extra years you're still just as good," Bucky responded simply, to which Steve scoffed.

"Thanks for the compliment, but you've probably never even seen my work. I doubt I'm nearly as good as you take me for,"

"Nah," Bucky answered immediately, clearly unconvinced. He didn't even give it a second thought, he was completely sure that wasn't even on the table, "I can see talent from a mile away, Steve. Just cause you don't give yourself enough credit doesn't mean you're any less talented,"

A sheepish smile spread on Steve's face, he almost wanted to laugh. "You sure Engineering was the way to go? You could've easily been a life coach," he reasoned, raising an eyebrow, "Could open up some new doors for you,"

"Psychology's great, but it has too many grey zones, kinda like with English. Doesn't stick to me as easily as Math and Science. 1 is always 1 and 2 is always 2, that's always constant, but as soon as you call someone ‘pretty’ or use subjective words like that, everyone’s arguing because they all have different interpretations. There’s a lot more tip toeing involved.”

"I find it hard to believe you wouldn't love English when all you do on the subway is read."

"Hey, I loved the actual stories and novels we hadda read, but I don't think any teenager is excited that write a report on it. Teachers would be like, 'You can argue something, but make sure you convince me!' Then give you a shit grade just cause they didn't agree with what you said. Told ya, subjective."

“So what, if someone calls you handsome, that’s subjective?”

“Nope, that’s what you call another constant variable, Steve,” winked the brunette, sliding his free hand across the counter until the very tips of his fingers brushed at the back of Steve’s hand, “Anyone who’s seen me knows I’m handsome, so there’s not much room for that subjective mumbo jumbo.”

“You’re horrible,” the corners of Steve’s eyes crinkled, and Bucky could see him smiling through those pearly blue orbs of his.

In the few moments that passed, Bucky hadn’t even registered that he initiated contact with Steve, even if it was for a few fleeting moments. Panic immediately coursed through his body as his hand returned to its original position, his blood heavy like lead as it weighed down any future movements. Reaching out to Steve, letting the pads of his fingers just barely graze at the back of his hand, felt so incredibly natural and required little thought that he wasn’t even aware of the action until after it passed. His scalding digits suddenly felt all too cold against the marble countertop.

Bucky avoided eye contact for a moment, a little overwhelmed, completely unaware that Steve was just as shocked, and yet enjoyed it all the same.

Steve was astonished at how Bucky could make an entirely self centered compliment about himself and still retain the sort of confidence he found himself attracted to.

Well, he did sound like an asshole, a little, Steve agreed, but in the best possible way – it was well received and made the tall man giggle instead of walk away in annoyance or move his hand away in disinterest. In fact, Steve was surprised when he slowly slide his hand closer to Bucky’s, so much so that now the tips of his fingers which grazed against Bucky’s skin gradually began to find purchase over this man’s hands, his movements gentle but lacking in hesitancy. He felt Bucky’s hand twitch in response, clearly unexpecting the sudden reassurance of contact. 

Steve paused for a moment, his blush traveling down the nape of his neck and vividly mapping out the extent to his nervousness. This was a ballsy move for someone who was planning on hiding out in the kitchen away from the public eye, if he did say so myself. If Sam were to see him he'd agree it was uncharacteristic of Steve to flirt so openly like this, but nonetheless he'd cheer his friend on all the same.

Their conversation sparked back up shortly after, and the more they talked, the more Bucky would slowly inch his hand closer to the taller man's, returning the gesture of interest while he spoke about his college days with Clint. Steve listened closely, thoroughly invested. 

From an outsiders perspective they were hardly touching, the contact barely established, and if anything the bit that they were appeared completely shallow and unintended – a mere accident given the space they were sharing. But Bucky could feel his skin set aflame from every millimeter of flesh that bordered against Steve’s own hand, sparking alive and screeching with vigor and absolute fervor.

He could feel his heart thrumming loud against his chest, ringing in his ear, anytime Steve returned a smile or shared something new about himself.

The more he snaked his hand across the counter closer to Steve, the more he felt he wanted to crumble underneath that beautiful gaze of his. 

Bucky, in the most simplest of words, felt ridiculous. His face felt relaxed, at ease, every smile that Steve pulled out of him effortless and without hesitation, and yet that was all the more reason that he couldn't help but feel anxious. 

When the rough pad of Steve's finger carefully found refuge over his own, every cell in Bucky's body erupted in hysterics, unsure of how to respond to this all new stimulus which would soon envelope his entire hand by the end of the evening.

Steve had started their conversation, and was the one to initiate contact. 

Bucky wasn't even sure if he could handle another surprise. 

 

***

 

Behind that structured smile Steve kept so cleverly fabricated, the gesture did wild things to him, and he was incredibly grateful he didn’t follow Sam’s advice of wearing that black dress shirt he insisted looked so good on him. If he followed through on that, he would have sweat right through the fabric by this point, and nothing was more unattractive then that. 

At times he'd notice Bucky's gaze shift, taking note of the curves that so delicately lined Steve's abdomen, only for them to slowly retreat back to his eyes, where they remained focused for almost the entirety of their conversation. 

Where many others had failed and left Steve disinterested, Bucky was pushing at all his right buttons, molding him right under those fingers of his anytime he so much as exhaled a breath. Bucky did a great job of making Steve feel like everything the man did merited praise and applaud. It was how he exuded confidence, yet could maintain a conversation without constantly gravitating it back to himself, understanding the balance required to come off as both invested yet reserved. 

It reminded Steve about the man he constantly bumps into in the gym, how he commented that he was strong enough to bench press Steve if he gave him the chance – as if that would be enough grounds for him to sleep with the stranger. Sure, even if he was being honest and actually could lift Steve for more than a fraction of a section – without completely destroying his spine – he’d be impressed, but never enough to actually get down on his knees about it.

That was one stranger he’d never find himself in bed with. But...Bucky?

Steve didn’t want to dwell on the thought while in public. Even if he could muster the most indifferent, relaxed expression possible, his ears always gave him away mere seconds later, two flashing red lights that indicated his thoughts were moving away from family friendly fun in favor of sinful, adult desires. At least they were drinking, he could easily blame it on the alcohol.

Sure, Bucky could still be considered a stranger, and Steve very seldom opted to sleep with people he knew very little about, but the deeper into their conversation they ventured, the less he felt inclined to place such a label on the brunette. 

He'd moved to New York when he was 10, went to NYU to pursue Engineering, and listened to him talk about his three younger siblings, whom he was incredibly protective over yet sometimes hated with a burning passion. 

When Steve had mentioned he moved to Chicago for Art School, Bucky commented that his younger sister would visit there for annual soccer tournaments. Bucky would spend hours at a time doing his part to help her practice, even if he was clearly uncoordinated and just couldn't keep up. It was the effort that counted, Steve commented, feeling his chest swell. 

Bucky was undoubtedly attractive, it was almost overwhelming to the blonde. Even his regular scruffy appearance in the way he always looked a couple days overdue for a shave made Steve just want to drag his hand against the prickles of his facial hair. 

But what made Steve so horribly attracted to the guy was the fact that Bucky was genuinely sincere, the fact that he had a smile which was gentle and inviting and alluring, it was the fact that every word that spilled from his lips only left the young artist completely entranced by the way he could make every sentence sound like poetry. He wasn’t crass and triggered Steve’s anxiety, if anything, his presence alone helped soothe it away.

He wasn’t used to feeling so relaxed with someone who wasn’t in his immediate friend group, this feeling was undoubtedly foreign to Steve. 

From the very second Bucky walked in through that front door, Steve felt gravity ready to pick him off his feet and send him straight through the stratosphere. Emily continued chattering on about the little studio she had rented in Manhattan; about how lonely it was to have such a beautiful view without anyone to ennjoy it with. He felt slender fingers racked up Steve’s forearm, her perfume heavy in his nose and her curls bouncing in place anytime she moved. All of this was happening while Steve simply ascended higher into another plane of existence.

Steve wasn’t blind, she was clearly attractive and used that to her advantage. He watched as she pursed her cherry wine lips and accentuated every word that fell from them, using every trick in the book to capture her prey with that devilish look she perfected.

She would lean in close and press herself against Steve, who was far too distracted by the handsome man who had just entered into the party scene. He watched as he and Natasha spoke so freely, how Thor damn near sent him flying across the room anytime his hand clapped against his back, he listened to the tall Norse man challenge him to another drinking competition, which left Steve starved and curious as to how their first match went.

Did this Bucky really beat Thor at drinking?

He wondered if it was at a party he decided to skip out on, he couldn’t help but wonder. 

In between returning eye contact to the pretty girl at his side and following the outline of Bucky’s body as he navigated through the crowd, Steve’s fingers grasped tightly at his glass.

This night was either going to end in two ways. He was either going to be trapped in this kitchen, making small talk with girls who clearly were hoping to drag him home with them, or he was going to say something – anything – to this guy while he had the chance.

_Hey, I hope this doesn’t make me sound creepy, but I see you on the subway every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday and I was wondering if you were aware of how painfully attractive you are. Red looks great on you, and please tell me about the books you like to read, you always seem to have a new one anytime I don’t see you for more than a couple days. Oh, and my name is Steve, please like me. I’m single and looking for a long term relationship with someone who can handle my bullshit._

Steve shuddered at the mere thought, it was far too close to reality than he’d like to imagine.

The spare hand which rested lax against the kitchen counter retreated back into Steve’s pocket, thumbing and running the pad of his fingers against the outline of his keys and wallet. Emily’s sweet voice continued chirping without hesitation beside him, and he watched as a bright smile beamed from Clint’s face, happy to see his friend.

Bucky’s naturally relaxed posture had changed slightly, veering into something that gave the faint air of discomfort. Steve had done enough anatomy studies while in school to know that the slightest shift of his shoulders and feet made all the difference.

What he was nervous about, Steve couldn’t fathom, and quickly turned to meet Emily’s glance when he noticed Clint begin to approach the kitchen.

“Hey Steve, Emily, you two enjoying yourselves?” their host asked, his head cocked to the right in curiosity. 

“Oh, absolutely, Clint! You have such a lovely place, thanks for having us.” she purred, running her hand down the length of Steve’s arm. He’d never quite given her permission to step so close into his space, and she never caught on to how his body reclined at each touch. Anytime her fingers lingered a little too long for comfort, he’d step back, only for her to close their distance a couple seconds later. Just a couple minutes more and Steve would have found himself a pretty little corner to be stuck in – what a way to go.

“Emily, I want to introduce you to my buddy Sam, says to bring anyone interested in Zumba classes right in his direction.”

“He’s a Zumba instructor?” Steve could hear the hitch in her voice.

“Sam's not, but he's got a buddy who just opened up a studio in Manhattan. Says anyone who chats him up before his second beer gets two whole sessions free. Better hurry, he’s down to his last inch.”

“We’ll finish our chat later, Steve,” giggled the young girl, eagerly following Clint into the crowd of people.

Steve mouthed a silent _Thank you_ to his dear host, who clearly nodded at the gesture. He reached into his phone in preparation of texting Sam to thank him as well for the save, as he didn’t feel quite ready to leave his corner yet. In the middle of opening the messaging app, Steve damn near dropped his phone.

_Hot-guy-who-you-see-on-the-subway-who-is-lookin-hella-fine-is-approaching._

_Act natural – and get off your fucking phone, no one wants to make conversation with someone who would rather stay connected in their technology then be present at the party._

Taking a big gulp of his scotch, Steve directed his attention to the crowd in Clint’s living room, as if completely immersed and not at all trying to look in the opposite direction from which this celestial man stood from.

He listened to the crunch of ice as the stranger set down the wine he graciously bought, heard the squeak of his shiny shoes as they stepped against Clint’s travertine tiles, glanced as he poured himself a drink and settled himself in place.

Say something, Rogers, you learned how to speak 24 years ago, don’t forget how to now.

_Hi, you’re gorgeous and handsome and smell really fuckin’ good, would you do me the honors of letting me blow you?_

Steve was sure that was what he said, but was pleasantly surprised when something a little more appropriate took its place.

“You go by Bucky, right?”

And there they were, the distance between them gradually closing, with Bucky’s hand now squeezing Steve’s, their original positions shifted.

"Barnes, by the way," he heard Bucky say, giving his last name. In all they had shared with each other the last hour that passed, it was only until now they revealed their full names. 

"Rogers." Steve responded simply.

This was going to be a good night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bucky ain't dumb enough to use a Johnny Bravo pick up line, but don't mean he ain't gonna think about:
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Next chapter will showcase what exactly goes down during the party. Next update will likely be posted on July 12th~ Thank you so much to the lovelies who have kindly left a kudos/comment, it doesn't go unappreciated!! :) It helps drive me to keep posting more <3


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky and Steve get a little too loose with the alcohol. Drunken cuddles and pizza follow shortly.

“3,” counted Sam, “2, 1, go!”

Four hands immediately grabbed at the shots perfectly lined in front of them. The moment snapped so quick that Steve hardly even registered the burn of the liquor down his throat, wiling it down with sheer dedication. The moments it began to settle down into his stomach, heavy and scalding and spreading a stream of warmth down the length of his spine, the blonde exhaled a heavy gasp, already reaching for his next shot glass. By his third one, Steve began to pinch at the bridge of his nose anytime he drank, trying to keep up with the unbothered people he sat beside. Natasha, to no one’s surprise, finished first, even taking the time to admire her empty glasses and flip them back over before someone followed her. Thor was a close second, followed with Bucky, and finally Steve, who wore a dazed smirk as a red flush formed on his cheeks and trailed down the dip of his neck. Steve breathed a deep sigh as he finished, leaning back against the sofa cushion with a hard _thud_. A large hand came up and rubbed at his eyes, a stream of giggles spilling from his throat – so light and airy like music. It had been a while since he’d last done shots, and the rush of warmth that was sprinkling kisses across his flesh was beginning to tickle.

“Not bad!” smirked his right hand man, clearly impressed by how well his friend had kept up against the individuals seated beside him. Romanoff was infamously known for starting her drinking as early as 10 am, Thor fermented his own mead for weeks at a time (Sam even had the pleasure of tasting it once – it only took a glass and a half for him to get totally shitfaced), and Bucky…well, he didn’t know much about the man, but the fact that Thor personally chose him as his drinking partner already said enough. The fact that Steve kept his own, especially in this arena that he seldom associated himself with, made Sam proud of him.

Natasha left without another word, clearly unfazed as Bucky smoothed back at his hair, reaching over for his phone. Jesus that vodka was strong, he had no doubt that Nat was the one who picked it out. The alcohol was hitting him quick and already robbing him of his inhibitions. It took Bucky at least 4 tries to text a single sentence, struggling to navigate his thumbs across the screen and formulate coherent speech.

Sam was pleasantly surprised when Steve’s conversation with the stranger lasted for 15 uninterrupted minutes, noticing the blonde reveal his more talkative side. Anytime he glanced back at the two in the kitchen and watched them chatting away about whatever it was that tickled their fancy, he simply wanted to shoot a big thumbs up in his pal’s direction, demonstrating his support and satisfaction at the sequence of events. Clint clearly had good reason to want to bring these two together, and even if it took a little blackmailing, Sam was more than happy to have done his part to drag his friend over here this evening. He watched in satisfaction at the way Steve’s shoulders lost their initial stiffness and gradually relaxed forward, indicating that yes, he was having a good time, and yes, whatever it was Barnes was saying was eliciting a genuinely interested response from the taller man.

It was endearing. Maybe Rogers would finally find himself a boyfriend, Sam snickered to himself, redirecting his attention to the pretty blond in front of him.

But it was when Sam watched the burly Norse man navigate into the kitchen, right up to Bucky, that Sam wondered if he should do his part as wing-man and intervene. He’d take a couple drinks against the walking personification of alcohol itself if it meant Steve would be left alone for a bit longer with his new potential love interest. Right as Sam began to reason just how to approach the situation, he was shocked beyond reason to see that it wasn’t just Barnes who’d followed Thor out of the kitchen and into the living room, but Rogers as well trailed close behind, finding refuge in the empty sofa seat beside the brunette.

Steve exchanged a sheepish smile as the redhead began to fill up their glasses, aligning them in front of their respective participants. Steve shrugged his shoulder at Sam, practically saying, _Yeah, I wasn’t expecting to do this either._

Sam responded by rolling his eyes, his face tugged in a playful smile. He’d known Steve long enough to understand that the artist was never one for these sorts of drinking game, he much rather preferred savoring his drink in a relaxed pace instead of chugging it down for the sake of some temporary glory. It was because of that reasoning that anytime they veered off to a bar, Sam no longer challenged Steve to shots, he’d simply find another activity that would let them exercise their competitive nature with one another.

 And yet here Steve was, sitting a little apprehensively as Natasha slid a few glasses over to his corner of the table. Steve counted them, taking in the clear liquid within each container. Five. This wouldn’t be so bad, he reasoned to himself, glancing over at Bucky who was making playful speech to the Norse man seated at his right.

“You sure you can keep up, old man?” sneered the brunette.

“Respect your elders, Barnes,” Thor responded back, acting as if the 2 year age difference he had over Bucky worked as an advantage.

When Thor had stormed into the kitchen and challenged the brunette, all Bucky had to do was squeeze at Steve’s hand, give him a pretty smile, and ask with that silky voice of his, “Wanna join?” for Steve to blindly follow him into the living room without further reservations.

Sam was going to tease the hell out of him for this, Steve reasoned, his first hiccup in the night erupting up his throat. Steve’s arm now replaced his hand over his face, willing himself to relax before he gave Bucky what he presumed to be the dorkiest, most embarrassing smile he could ever muster in his life. He just needed a second, he reasoned, feeling his ears flare up with heat.

As Thor’s phone vibrated in his pocket, he proceeded to pull it out, reading the text that illuminated on his home screen. After taking the hint, the large man ventured upstairs to the second story of Clint’s apartment to rejoin Natasha, leaving the two men alone to enjoy their buzz together.

The majority of the guests had ventured upstairs, so the usual hum of conversations which filled the living room an hour prior had now relaxed to a mere handful of individuals.

“You always get that red when you drink?” teased the brunette, poking at the meaty underside of Steve’s hand which lazily dropped beside his right shoulder.

Steve simply responded with a hearty chuckle, his fingers quickly curling to trap Bucky’s hand under his grip.

“Where’d Nat even find that stuff? Never had vodka that strong before,”

“Prolly brought it back since her last visit home, I’m guessing,” Bucky responded, giving his trapped finger a playful wiggle, “Hey – want some more?” he raised a mischievous eyebrow, dragging the nearly full bottle closer to them.

Steve responded with a devious expression, a chuckle emerging from deep in his throat.

“Sure, why not,” he smirked.  

 

***

 

They shared drinks together, then a few more, until Sam had to intervene and force two full glasses of water in front of the laughing men, too Immersed in themselves to even notice the kind man's generosity. Whatever it was about Bucky that triggered Steve's inner alcoholic, he could only giggle, having lost track of how many glasses he emptied. His body felt weightless, unreal, like at any moment he'd float straight off his chair and through the roof until nothing but stars greeted him. 

“Jeez, slow down there, Rogers,” slurred the brunette, poking at the muscle of his sides. “I know you got the build to drink a bottle or two, but don’t mean you _should_ –“

“Oh shut it, Barnes, you’re no better,” responded the blond, rolling his eyes, “Not my fault the wine you brought was great.”

“It’s only great cause you’re drunk, it’s from Safeway.”

Steve stared at his glass in shock, as if what Bucky had said was pure blasphemy.  Nonetheless he drank it all the same, trying to swallow down the laugh that just wouldn't die down long enough for him to finish his next sentence. 

 At this point into the evening, half of Clint’s guests had already left, and the two remained seated for over an hour, Bucky only leaving his seat once to grab at the bottle of wine when the two agreed they wanted something other than vodka.

They’d picked backup their conversation where they left off in the kitchen, exchanging silly stories and facts about themselves they probably wouldn’t remember the following morning.

“Your sister set the yard on _fire_? How does an 8 year old even _do_ that?” Steve gasped, his eyes wide and unfocused.

“You’re tellin’ me, and I was the one watching them when it happened! Thank god the neighbor had a fire extinguisher, would’ve gotten my ass beat into the next century if the fire department had’a get called.”  Bucky shook his head, loose strands of hair tickling at his cheeks. "She's the good kid too – honor roll, never talked back. Looks like pyromania finds a way to anyone, though."

A throaty laugh erupted deep from Steve’s chest, his head tilting back to expose the juncture of his throat as he let himself be taken over by the laughing fit. “Stories like that make me happy to be an only child.” he smirked, wiping a tear from his right eye.

“Damn, no siblings to steal your clothes or ruin your shit?”

“Nope, I just ruined my shit on my own.” he responded effortlessly, surprised he let the curse flow out so easily. “You close to your siblings?”

“Yeah, kinda forced to since I shared a room with them all for almost 10 years. You learn to deal with it, though.”

“God,” Steve shook his head, “Sounds like a nightmare.”

“Oh, it was.” Bucky nodded, sipping the last bit of his wine. He leaned back against the armrest of Clint’s sofa, a hand pulled up to rub at his forehead. His body felt light and warm, a steady calmness filling his veins as he glanced over at the pretty blond before him under the gaps of his fingers.

Steve’s face was so red that anyone from a 3 mile radius could see him. A dorky smile remained plastered onto him as Buck watched him savor the last bit of his drink. Even with how drunk and incoherent he felt, it went without saying that Steve continued to look dangerously attractive, even more so that he let himself reveal such an embarrassing side of his in front of someone he’d met only a few hours ago. “Fuck, think I drank too much,” sighed the brunette, feeling the seconds drag on until he couldn’t tell where one ended and the next began. He chugged down the glass Steve’s friend graciously left for them, mentally reprimanding himself for not drinking more earlier.

“Gonna get more water, want some?” Bucky asked, noticing the empty glass in front of the blonde.

Steve nodded to a question he hardly even heard, simply following the shorter man into the kitchen without giving it a second thought. Stumbling out from his seat, Bucky felt his balance ready to fail him, the sight of the floorboards feeling dangerously stark in their detail and design.

A firm hand quickly made its way over his shoulder, straightening Bucky backwards.

“You really shouldn’t drink so much,” teased Steve, keeping his arm over Bucky even when the man had corrected his footing and was no longer in need of support.

Bucky simply laughed, a shaken hand moving up to ruffle at his hair as the two slowly made their way into the kitchen. Bucky grabbed at two cold water bottles left in the ice bucket, which had now melted into a soppy mess of chilled water. Tossing one over to the blond, the two returned back to their initial positions from earlier, Steve leaning against the wall adjacent to the fridge while Bucky leaned forward onto the kitchen countertop, the two concentrating on not spilling their beverage over themselves.

Bucky felt, in the simplest of words that his inebriated brain could muster, good. He had spent well over two hours with Steve, and though their activities had centered on drinking (too much for their own good, he added), they could share laughs with one another without having to deal with awkward formalities – both of their filters were gone long after the shots they took.

As far as Bucky knew, Steve was enjoying himself just as much as he was. The stiff shoulders he wore earlier when they first met had gradually melted down into a lax position, his head tilted back as his free hand found purchase on Clint’s quartz countertop. His expression was gentle, at ease, his blue eyes moving down the length of his water bottle to return to the fixated brunette beside him.

“Oh my god,” gasped Bucky, his whole body straightening forward, urgency in his voice, “Rogers, you know what sounds great right now?”

Steve eyed him curiously, an eyebrow perked.

“Pizza.”

“Holy shit,” whispered the taller man, his eyes gone wide, “That does sound great.” 

“There’s a place a couple blocks down from here, you in?”

Steve didn’t give it a second thought, he was already stumbling his way back into the living room to retreat his coat.

 

***

 

“Hey, did you head home?”

If he wasn’t so drunk, Steve would probably be more conscious of the seriousness in Sam’s tone. “No, ‘m still with Buck,” he responded simply, the arm not focused on keeping the phone to his ear hooked casually across Bucky’s shoulders, fingers idly playing with the fabric of Bucky’s collar. From the moment they bounded through Clint’s front door, Steve’s hand playfully patted at Bucky’s shoulder, the gesture initiated from some piss poor joke Bucky made that sparked a genuine laugh from the taller man. As they bounded down the steps and into the street, Bucky simply responded by covering the firm hand over his shoulder with his own, even timing his footsteps with the man beside him as they picked a steady pace. Already halfway to the restaurant, and Steve’s hand never quit left the vicinity of the brunette’s body. With the way that Bucky leaned into each touch and even proceeded to play and squeeze at Steve’s fingers, a small smile bubbled across the blonde’s face, wiggling each digit that the brunette fussed with. 

“You’re still at Clint’s place?” Sam asked in confusion.

“No, we went out.”

“Rogers,” Sam sighed, “You’re drunker then all hell, where did you even go?”

 “We’re goin’ to—“ Steve paused, stopping dead in his tracks as he gave it a serious thought, “Buck, where we goin’ again?”

“Antonio’s” he answered simply, even leaning into the phone. “’s few blocks from Clint’s, best damn pizza ‘ve ever had,”

The line was quiet for a moment as Bucky proceeded to take his next step, bringing his arm over to wrap behind Steve’s back and rest on his waist, coaxing him forward. 

“Okay, alright,” Sam finally responded, the sound of shuffling muting his end of the line, “I’ll be there in a bit, just don’t go anywhere, alright?”

“’Kay,” Steve responded simply, lazily ending the call and returning his phone into his pocket. Steve turned his head towards the younger male, “Sam’s joinin’ us.”

“Mm,” Bucky nodded, taking a moment to let that sit, “yeah, okay, that’s a good idea, actually.” 

“Yeah,” Steve agreed, stumbling over his next step. “we’re kinda drunk,” he snickered, bringing a hand over to smooth back his hair.

“Just a lil’,” Bucky added, pinching at Steve’s waist to elicit a gasp from the taller man. When he received exactly that, Bucky simply grinned.

It took the two drunks all of 25 minutes to finally stumble their way into the restaurant, having walked in the wrong direction 2 times and distracted by trivial things on the road a dozen more. A little flower, which blossomed through the cracks of the sidewalk and survived even when in the heart of winter made the two men almost forget their initial mission of pizza, taking dozens of pictures and cooing for the little baby to stay strong and survive. That stop alone took more than 10 minutes, and only 5 steps later did Steve pause in his tracks, hunched over and willing his body to not retch up all of the alcohol in his system on the side of the road. He reasoned that he wasn’t drunk enough to let that happen, and Bucky simply patted at his friend’s back, sympathizing. 

“It’s okay, we’re almost there,” Bucky had said for the third time that night, balancing himself over a mailbox.

Sam, on the other hand, took less than 10 minutes to arrive, his wits still attached to him and his brain coherent, the two beers he had spaced out and accompanied with plenty of water. As the handsome man entered into the pizza joint, scanning the empty booths and disinterested employee standing behind the counter, he spotted a tuff of blond hair which stood up over the edge of one of the booths, situated to the very back of the restaurant, near the restrooms. Steve was seated in the direction opposite of the door, staring up at a painting hung up on the wall that looked older then Brooklyn itself.

“Steve –“ Sam called out, making his way towards his unmoving friend, “Hey, where’s Barnes –“ 

Well, there he was.  

Bucky had slumped so far down that his head was neatly tucked into the crook of Steve’s neck, his eyes hooded and his body lazy. The man looked like he had melted in place, right arm hooked behind the blonde’s back and the other draped lazily across his chest, fingers grazing at the taller man’s waist. Steve looked no better, his arm hung over Bucky’s shoulder and his hand curled protectively around the man’s shoulder to keep him close, his cheek pressed firmly against the top of the mess of Bucky’s hair. 

It took a solid moment before Steve registered Sam’s presence, towering and huge above him. After staring right through him for a few moments, his blue eyes lit up at the registration of the tall figure, albeit unfocused. “Hey, buddy,” he greeted, his voice gravelly and eyes glassy.

They both reeked of alcohol and were clearly moments away from falling asleep, Barnes closer then Steve. The only movement Bucky made to acknowledge Sam’s presence was the passive raise of his left hand, draped gracelessly over Steve’s waist. The action was so minimal and pathetic that Sam wanted to laugh. 

“Hey,” responded back the sober man, taking a seat in the empty booth in front of them, “So, you were just gonna leave without telling me?” he quipped, eyebrow raised. Adult or not, there was no way Sam was going to let his best pal out loose in the city with his inhibitions obstructed. Next thing he needed was him going missing, or waking up in some empty parking lot with his wallet missing. 

“Don’t get mad at Stevie, Sam,” Bucky groaned, turning his head just enough to make eye contact with the sober man but still maintain the comfort of his current position, “Was my idea,  _I_  dragged him out here,” slurred the brunette, the last words muddling together as he nuzzled closer into the crook of Steve’s neck. 

Stevie. 

Sam’s gaze immediately gravitated to Steve’s expression, who was either unbothered or unaware of the name Barnes had called him by a few seconds ago. Most likely the latter, Steve looked pretty out of it, albeit the comfortable expression that seemed permanently etched onto his face. 

Holy shit, Nat and Clint were going to eat this shit up the second Sam told them, and he was damn sure he’d provide them with video footage too.

Shortly after sitting down, the deep dish pizza the two men ordered finally arrived, hot and steaming in front of them. At the sight and smell of it, it was enough motivation to move Bucky out from his little crook, straightening himself up as his shoulder gave a pop. 

“You sure y’all you don’t wanna take this to go?” Sam suggested, but Bucky already had his eyes set on his perfect slice, watching the cheese stretch and stream over the table until they finally snapped apart and found refuge in his mouth, a piece sticking messily to his chin. He hummed in satisfaction at the taste, but jumped as he felt the cheese burn at the roof of his mouth. 

“Guess that’s a no,” Sam sighed, grateful that the two men chose seats so close to the restroom. Drunk as they were, you could never be too sure. 

 

*** 

 

Sam followed closely behind the two men, one hand holding the pizza box with the leftovers still warm inside, and the other recording the two stumbling idiots as they made their way down the block, using each other for support.

By the time they made it back into Clint’s home, Natasha didn’t bother hiding her amusement as she snickered loudly to herself, watching Bucky collapse onto a nearby sofa as Steve simply settled down onto the floor, right beside Bucky’s legs.

“They alright?” the red head asked under her breath, trying to keep her tone even amongst her enjoyment at the entire scene.

“Yeah, just….God, Nat, _look_ at them,” Sam cocked his head in the direction of the men, handing the pizza box to Natasha, “Took us almost a half hour to walk 4 blocks, and the man runs over 4 miles in that time,” he almost wanted to laugh, realizing that Steve would be in no shape to go on their run the following morning.

“Didn’t think Steve was one for drinking?” Natasha quipped, shamelessly taking the biggest slice in the box.

“He’s not,” Sam answered simply, listening to the sound of rustling on the floor.

“Steve, keep your jacket on, we’ll be leaving soon anyways –“ Sam called over, replaced by the faint sound of mumbling between the two drunk men.

“Last time he drank this much was back in March when the art exhibit accidentally gave his space to someone else – total misshape on the roster and sent him home with nothing but an apology. That time was clearly intentional, every time he poured a new drink, but now?” he turned back, and Steve was in the process of standing up, peeling off his jacket in spite of Sam’s announcement. Sam scoffed, “The man did _shots_ today,” the thought alone made him laugh, “He _never_ does that shit,”

“Probably didn’t help that I left my bottle on the table,” Natasha admitted, her cheek poking out from the pizza jammed into it, “Was hoping they would let loose a little, but I didn’t think –“

Natasha stopped midsentence, redirecting her attention away from Sam as she raised an eyebrow, the corners of her lips curling upward in an amused smile. She quickly rummaged into her pocket to pull out her phone, pressing record before he could even register that something interesting was happening.

Sam sighed, turning his entire body around to face the blonde man.

“Steve, what are you – oh God _damn_ it, Rogers.”

Natasha whistled, and Bucky sat there with his jaw on the floor, unblinking.

“ _Holy shit._ ”

 

***

 

"Rogers –“ smirked Sam, edging a bottle of Gatorade closer to his friend. Steve was a motionless log on Sam’s bed, his hair a ruffled mess of feathers as his head sank deeper into the cushioning of his pillow, beckoning to suck him in and never let him see the light of day again. It was already 10 am, almost 4 hours later then he would usually wake up on a Saturday.

“You alright? Need me to get you a walker for the bathroom?”

“Fuck your mouth,” he slurred, “Wait, no, _shut_ your – oh my God. I meant shut.”

Sharp cackles bellowed from Sam’s chest at this, as the handsome man clapped his hand hard on Steve’s back, earning a whine from the barely conscious man. “How do you feel?” Sam asked gingerly, the amusement still heavy in his tone.

“Like shit.”

“Well no wonder, you damn near drank Romanoff’s entire bottle of death in one sitting. It’s a miracle you’re still alive.”

Steve simply groaned, turning his head to the opposite side to indicate that he was in no mood to continue conversation.

Sam simply took that as invitation to press on.

“Steve, can you answer something for me?”

“No.”

“Why is it,” the handsome man began, trying to contain his mirth, “That whenever you’re drunk enough, you’re so eager to take off your shirt?”

“ _What?”_ his neck snapped back in Sam’s direction, brows furrowed deep, “Quit talkin’ shit, you’re lying.”

“I’m serious! It’s hard for me to score a cute girls number if you’re in the middle of the damn room showing that skin and muscle of yours. That’s not really a good wing-man move, y’know.”

“Please, God, tell me you’re joking.” Steve dropped his head down and buried his face deeper into the pillow, trying to hide how completely mortified and lost he was.

Sam pulled out his phone, and Steve immediately reached over to snatch it away, his movements sloppy and disorientated. Sam simply held it out of his grip, already pulling up photos and videos.

When he found the perfect image, Steve was mortified, color draining from his face and goosebumps emerging down his spine and up the length of his arms. Sam kept scrolling through more images, and the more Steve saw, the more he felt nausea ready to consume him.

“Don’t tell me that Nat –“

“Yeap.”

“And Clint?”

“Mhm.”

“Tony.” It was a statement.

“He recorded it on his goddamn watch like a total snob.”

“Dear God…”

“Wasn’t all in vain, that pretty boy you were all up on during the party loved the show.”

“I didn’t stop at my shirt?!” Steve rose from his position like a resurrected mummy, now sitting up on the mattress so fast the headache that nestled annoyingly in his head crackled and shot a throbbing pain throughout his system.

“Course you did, and even if you didn’t, I’d be there to stop you. Didn’t want you giving everything away when you’d be too drunk to remember it, and definitely not while in front of 15 people.”

Steve swallowed hard, his throat dry and constricted. He reached over for the Gatorade, unscrewing the top.

“I’m guessing that happened after we got pizza?” That was the last thing he remembered, the two of them making an impulsive decision to grab a bite at Antonio’s down the street.

“Yeap, after pizza when we went back to Clint’s place to head out.” He stated simply, rummaging through the content of his phone, “Y’know Rogers, you drink a _lot_ more when you’re nervous.”

“Why do you think I hate going to parties?”

“Nah, see, I don’t mean the I’m-no-good-at-parties nervous, I mean the kinda nervous you get when there’s a certain someone who’s caught your eye and you don’t wanna fuck things up. If you were your typical kinda nervous, you’d have gone home with maybe a bit of a buzz, but not much past that,” he answered simply, the bashful expression Steve gave only fortifying everything Sam said. “When y’all were on the couch, every time I looked over it’s like your glass was a little fuller! No wonder you don’t remember half the night.”

Sam made a damn good point. So much so that it made Steve a little anxious. If everyone in the room could tell, he wondered if Bucky had noticed his glances too. But then again, what did it matter? If there was one thing he remembered from the night, it was that the two men constantly stood or sat within 3 steps of one another, not bothering to leave any room for distance. Steve couldn’t help the small smile that crept on his face, albeit his discomfort from the retching hangover that enveloped him. From what he did remember, he enjoyed the night, even if he currently regretted his entire existence.

A large, heavy hand came over to rest on his forehead, massaging at the skin as if that was the sole answer to removing his headache.

“Did you come with us to pizza?” asked the hung over blond, feeling stubble begin to prickle at his cheek. “I feel like I remember you there.”

“Course I was there, someone had to chaperone you two losers, and Clint and Nat were in no mood for babysitting.”

“Sorry about that,” apologized the blond, the light creeping in through the curtains annoying and unpleasant, “We weren’t that bad, were we?”

A devious smile curled across Sam’s face as he turned his phone towards his partner. “Don’t worry, it was worth it. I got enough blackmail for the rest of our lives now.”

Well, that answered that question.

 

***

  
A week went by where Steve hadn’t seen Bucky in the subway, and he did what he always did best: come up with worst case scenarios.

He’d watched the videos Sam recorded as if his entire life had ended before his very feet, the screen a projection of moments he was thankful he didn’t remember sober but ashamed he let happen while drunk.

Anytime Steve remembered those videos, his face scrunched in sheer embarrassment and the tips of his ears scorched bright and red. Steve just wanted to stretch his t-shirt high over his face and bury himself deep in the linen, so no one would have to see the pathetic face he was making, let alone notice his existence. After they had left Clint’s apartment, the two men stumbled over to the pizza joint, hips attached to one another and arms slugged over shoulders and waists. Sam had recorded almost their entire venture outside on his smart phone, and Steve watched in horror at the lengthy videos, the blurry pictures, and snaps that had yet to disappear on Sam’s story.

Even when they entered into the restaurant and sat down into a booth, the two remained inseparable, their arms continuously slugged over each other. Steve especially, in his drunken haze, constantly closed the distance between himself and the shorter male.

“Steve, you can let go of Bucky, y’know.” commented Sam, a smile tugging at his lips as he picked off his own slice of pizza, the distance between the two men nonexistent even as they ate.

“I know, but like, I just don’t want him to fall –“ he reasoned, eyes wide and endearing, hand tightening on Bucky’s waist. “He’s had a lot to drink, he might slip.”

“That’s nice of you, Steve, but you don’t gotta hold him up anymore, you’re both sitting down.”

“…but he could fall.” Steve answered sincerely, clearly unable to understand the point Sam was trying to make. All the while, Bucky leaned into every touch Steve gave to him, practically sighing in satisfaction anytime attention was directed his way. One pizza held at his hand and the other rested casually on Steve’s knee, wanting to keep constant contact with the man.

Even as he finished his meal and leaned blissfully against his new friend’s chest, Sam almost coughed in a laughing fit when he watched Barnes completely lose himself in the moment, his pupils practically forming hearts as he sat in total paradise.

Steve, on the other hand, had been completely oblivious to Bucky’s gaze, dedicating nearly all of his energy and brain power to supposedly “protecting” his new friend from the world’s many dangers, and convincing himself that he wasn’t nearly as drunk as he actually was.

Sam had a pretty little picture of the two drunkards eating their pizza together, slouched against one another without so much as an inch of separation between them. It was awfully cute, Steve blushed, but such intimacy means nothing if you can’t so much as actually remember it.

As Steve sat in his seat, trying to make out the words to new graffiti that stained at the subway’s flooring, his finger tapping nervously against the cover of his sketchpad.

Logical reasons as to why he hadn’t seen the brunette recently could have been mere technicalities. Missed the train, held up at work, errands that needed to get done – the reasons were infinite.

But Steve couldn’t rule out the fact that he might have said something, done something while drunk, that left a horrible impression to his new friend and made him hesitant to want to see him again. Sam had squashed over that assumption by being key witness to Steve’s actions – reinforcing that he hadn’t done anything to merit such a response – but Steve had a brain which focused and laid tribute to an option which left Steve unsettled and anxious, regardless of it being unrealistic or not. From the snapshot of Bucky’s personality Steve was exposed to, he was hesitant to imagine that Bucky was so petty as to let such an encounter interfere with his regular train ride home. If something _did_ happen, he was fairly certain he’d be sitting right where he always did, not letting the inconvenience of a bad encounter with some stranger ruin his time with his new book.

But then again, Steve was making assumptions about someone who he didn’t know all that much about. Sure, they could be considered acquaintances, maybe even _friends_ , but that didn’t constitute Steve being able to accurately guess Bucky’s thought process or how he handled situations. Steve could do that with Sam, no doubt, but that was the difference between knowing someone for 7 years instead of 3 hours.

He absent mindedly skimmed through his contacts for a third time, trying to look for some name or title that was out of the ordinary. He found nothing, and chewed at the inside of his cheek.

If anything, if he didn’t see him again in the subway anytime soon, at least there was the chance he’d be in Clint’s tattoo parlor, striking up conversation about whoever it was that peaked his interest well enough to fill the reception area with compliments and electric energy.

Damn. Whoever they were, they sure as hell were lucky to catch Bucky’s eye, Steve couldn’t help but feel a twinge of jealously at the memory of it all. Maybe after Friday night, he might just be talking about Steve that way, like he was some sort of masterpiece meant to be admired and adored and merited nothing but praise for doing something as simple as existing.

He scoffed. Like that’d ever happen.

 

***

 

“Psychology – he’ll be happier to see you after going a little time without that ugly mug of yours,” Natasha answered simply, Clint following the statement with a single nod.

Bucky eyed his two companions with skepticism, not nearly as convinced by their reasoning as they hoped for. “The last time we met I was piss pot drunk in the end, I have no idea if his last impression of me was even on a positive note. Hell, are you _sure_ I didn’t yack on him? That would have been a sure quick way for him to never want to see me again.”

“No, no puke, don’t worry,” Natasha answered, dismissing the question with the wave of her hand, “Wilson has all the proof we need, I checked the records just in case.”

“ _Records?_ Jeez, Nat I know you work for the government but this isn’t some potential crime scene where you gotta go through files and shit.”

“And that’s where you’re wrong, Buck. It will indeed be a damn crime if I can’t help my friend get laid.”

“Oh my God,” he sighed, trying not to choke on his latte, “I don’t wanna fuck him, alright?”

2 eyebrows were raised simultaneously and 4 eyes stared him down intensely. Bucky suddenly felt hyperaware of the lie he just gave. “Okay,” he submitted, “Yes, yeah, I do,” _eventually_ , Bucky mentally added, “But I wanna get to know him first, alright? From what I remember at Clint’s place, he seems like a total dork, but in an adorable, please-keep-talking way, and I don’t want to limit our interactions to just sex _if_ it ever got to that point.”

For some reason that was a hell of a lot more embarrassing to admit than he imagined.

Natasha tapped furiously into her cell phone, as if capturing word for word everything Bucky had just said. That merited a dirty look from the brunette, one she had not so much as regarded. “Alright, Sam sent over all the videos and pictures he took Friday night to Clint, and I saved his snap story just in case Barton over here forgot to.” Clint shrugged at his left shoulder, he did. The last time he used snapchat was during he and his wife’s anniversary, three months ago.  

“I’ve seen worse, and you two drunk weren’t nearly as bad as you think. Be happy, you didn’t even get all grabby handed over him or try to kiss him, you just kinda sat there all pliant with his arm over you. Rejoice, Barnes, now you two can enjoy your first kiss sober, if you play your cards right.”

Bucky’s shoulders considerably relaxed at hearing that, his features softening as a soft sigh escaped his lips. That was definitely of great concern to him, and to know he hadn’t ruined his chances with Steve while drunk was a great relief.

“I’ll text you within the next 24 hours to strategize a course of action to get you two in the same room again. Meanwhile, have you seen him lately?”

“No,” Bucky answered, disappointment in his voice, “Stark’s got me held up at work lately.”

“Good. Like I said, Buck, psychology.” she winked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drunk losers are my favorite kinda losers. Hope all you lovelies are having a great week! Thank you again to everyone who has left a comment/kudos, you all rock!! :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Weeks after the party and Clint and Natasha make plans to reunite the two lover boys.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter turned out a lot longer than anticipated (12K omg), so please enjoy! Sorry for the grammar mistakes.

**_Wake up, Solider._ **

Bucky’s phone buzzed to life for 15 uninterrupted seconds as text after text flooded into his phone. It was a quarter after three am, and it wasn’t until he received his 12th message that the noise roused the brunette from his slumber, causing him to stir in the warm comfort of his sheets and bedding.

The first thing his eyes registered was the amber glow of streetlights filling in through the window of his bedroom, light and gentle, soft like sunlight but artificial all the same.Bucky’s body felt heavy, every movement requiring his utmost effort just to drag his hand the couple inches needed to rub the blurriness out of his vision. Being conscious only amplified the weight of his bones underneath his flesh, the fragility of his muscles as it melted into the mattress, and Bucky writhed at the discomfort. His body felt intangible, like the blood that was rushing through his veins was no different than the howling wind that lamented outside. It all felt the same in the first few moments that Bucky regained consciousness.

He groaned to himself, turning over to the source of noise as his hand blindly searched across his nightstand, fingers lazily curling around the annoying device as he brought it closer to him, purposely avoiding the deadly glow of light that emanated from his screen for just a moment longer.

When Bucky finally looked at his lock screen, a wall of new text messages greeted the drowsy brunette, lining so far down that he had to scroll to reach the end.

Bucky didn’t even have to read the name above it to know who these messages were from.

Just as Natasha instructed, Bucky had received an outline of her plan within the allotted time slot she promised, going so far as to include potential pick up lines, outfit suggestions, as well as yelp reviews regarding nearby restaurants she guessed the two would enjoy.

It was exactly 16 hours after their initial afternoon lunch session, right down to the millisecond, and already she had collected and dissected enough information to fill an entire calendar year worth of date ideas and suggestions that Bucky would gladly take into consideration. If there's one thing Natasha Romanoff is, it’s thorough, and Bucky was starkly reminded of that fact as his phone continued humming in his grip, the seconds stretching now to 30 since his phone was void of movement.

Bucky brought a hand over to rub at his eyes, quickly adjusting the brightness settings on his phone to the very lowest they could go. That helped – but it was still too bright, and he winced.

 **im up** , he finally texted after three attempts, trying to keep the sleepiness at bay long enough for him to know what Romanoff wanted. The last time he ignored a text from her, she showed up to his apartment at 2am with her briefcase worth of documents, and Bucky wasn’t quite sure if he had the energy to entertain company tonight.

**_Good. Let’s talk about the plan. Did you read what I already sent you?_ **

**no**

**_I’ll give you a summary then. You have a couple options, but this one is likely your best shot._ **

Bucky exhaled an exhausted breath, watching the three little bubbles dance in their grey casing as he waited patiently for the wall of text he would surely be bombarded with. The fact of the matter was that Bucky could handle finding himself a boyfriend just fine on his own, but when Romanoff took it upon herself to lend a helping hand without so much as being asked, then Bucky knew better than to tell her to stop. All he could do was keep his mouth shut and let the woman help where she saw fitted, and with this situation, that seemed to include everything. He appreciated the help, but Bucky wouldn’t deny that the process was a little finicky. Nat always obsessed with details until she reached the very point of madness, and Bucky could tell from the escalation of tonight’s events that soon he would be plummeting down that road with her.

**_Every Saturday between 1800 and 2100 hours, the Falcon and Captain spend some quality time together, as customary of their weekly regimen through the sport of jogging. Prospect Park is the main arena in which these two travel through. However, Hawkeyereceived note from an insider’s source himself that goldilocks will be traveling into the forest alone this weekend. This proves to be the most opportune moment available to offer her some porridge, Soldier._ **

**wtf are you talkin about** , Bucky texted back lazily as his eyes squinted at the screen, **im not gonna fuck him in a park if that’s what you’re egging on. Idk how that’s supposed to help with me dating him**

**_Patience, Soldier, this is all connected. For future reference, and I’m sure it will definitely become relevant, the Falcon has disclosed that Cap likes his bears hairy. You haven’t trimmed, have you?_ **

**the length of my chest hair is none of your business, Romanoff**

**_I wasn’t talking about your chest._ **

Bucky could feel the highpoints of his cheeks glow with warmth, and he couldn’t help but feel a little bashful.

 **is this what you wanted me up for?** he asked, feeling a prickle of impatience rise up his chest with the progression of the conversation. God, he was tired.

**_Snappy, much. Just don’t plan on sleeping in Saturday or scheduling any plans for next weekend, Soldier. If things go well with your Captain, you’ll want to be free for it._ **

**ok fine, but why is my codename Soldier?**

**_Because you’re expected to follow orders. If you have any other brilliant questions, especially concerning the plan, ask Clint. I’ll be busy with my client all week, so I won’t be as readily available as Hawkeye._ **

As if on cue, Clint sent a single thumbs up emoji, no text attached to it.

Bucky writhed in his current position, stifling his third yawn in the few minutes he was awake for. **can I go back to bed now?** he didn’t mean to sound ungrateful, but it required nearly all of his energy just to keep his eyes open and focused on the blinding screen before him.

**_Sure. I’ll call you Friday night to check in. Night, Barnes._ **

**night. thanks for everything, now go do the work you’re getting paid for**

The last message Natasha sent was a winking emoji with its tongue sticking out, concluding their late night conversation without further interruption.

When Bucky was certain that no other messages would be sent, he immediately switched his phone onto airplane mode, tossing the device back onto his nightstand where he wouldn’t so much as glance at it until the following morning. Once that was taken care of, he sunk deeper into his pillow, shifting his body to return to its previously comfortable position, and willing his mind to drift back into the lucid comfort of whatever dream he was previously immersed in.

A lazy hand tucked underneath the coolness of his pillow, and his knees bent so far high that they nearly touched his chest.

Tomorrow morning he’d be driving down to Long Island for a housewarming party for an old college friend of his, so before his alarm would strip him of this luxury, Bucky would appreciate it and milk it out for all he could.

He’d deal with this plan come Monday.

 

\--

 

"Come on, it's a great plan!" defended Clint, failing to understand where the discrepancy was. 

"6 a.m." repeated Bucky.

"Yes."

"You two expect me to look good and sound presentable at six in the goddamn morning." his brows furrowed, the brunette shifting his stance as his arm leaned over the black finish of Clint’s counter, his leather jacket dragging and squeaking over the hard material. "Don't you know it's practically illegal for me to socialize with _anyone_ before 9'o clock?" 

"Hey, don't shoot the attractive messenger who's just tryna help you get laid." he answered simply, raising two hands in defense. "Besides, it’s not a big deal. It’s a run, no one’s expecting you to look hot during it, and sometimes you _do_ head into work at around that time."

Bucky’s shoulders sagged, Clint had a point. But just because it happened didn’t make the process any less difficult, hauling his body out of bed at 5 am was never any less miserable, no matter how he slicked his hair or could drag a professional greeting from his rough throat.

“I dunno what kinda runs _you_ go on Barton, but you’re _supposed_ to look like a sex magnet when you workout. I mean, think about it: sweat, form fitting clothes, lil’ extra skin being shown. Plus, everyone looks better with their hair a little rustled, it’s pretty hard to fuck that up.”

“So what do you keep complainin’ about then? Sounds to me like that all works in your favor.”

Bucky let out a sigh, face scrunched in his left hand. “If he likes runnin’ in the dark, why couldn’t it be at night? I’d be all on board with that.”

Clint simply shrugged, sympathizing. "He chose the time, Buck. Not me. Nat and I are just workin’ with what we got."

Bucky groaned loudly to himself, slumping over the counter as his forehead pressed against the cold black countertop, knowing fully well that he probably looked ridiculous and might even deter customers away. And to think, it was in this exact same spot he stood in a few weeks back where he uttered his first words to Steve, a shocked expression voiding him of coherency as he felt the prickles of sheepishness rise up the length of his spine. Remembering the sweet velvet of his voice and the way he carried himself with a sense of bashfulness, too nervous to square his shoulders properly or make a presence for himself in fear of catching too many eyes, drew Bucky so powerfully that the very tips of his boots scratched against the gravel of the floor, dragging him forward as if the force of love alone could propel him forward.

But, Jesus.Who willingly wakes up that early, especially during  _winter_? There's nothing but misery and pestilence out on New York's streets as it is, but add in the layer of icy roads and a wind that bites harder then she barks and death was surely expected. How did Steve have the force of will to drag that beautiful body of his out of the confines of his heavenly bed and into the horrors of Brooklyn’s outdoors?  

A hot coil of anxiety churned in Bucky’s stomach, for fear of embarrassing himself in front of that angelic man, and actually being able to stand underneath his sunlight all over again.

As Bucky thought, in great detail, the way the contours of Steve’s body would glow underneath the rays of fresh sunlight, or how those long lashes of his would flutter open when he was first roused from his slumber, Clint interpreted his companion’s silence for hesitancy and reluctance in regards to their current discussion.

"C’mon, Buck,” began his partner, taking on a more subdued tone,“Think about it: with Sam outta town, it opens the perfect opportunity for you to get some quality, uninterrupted time with him. You two run together, share a laugh or two, and I bet he'll invite you out to coffee after your workout, but only if you play your cards right. Problem solved." 

Bucky blinked for a moment, stepping out of the beautiful daydream he had willingly wandered himself into as he exhaled a heavy breath, lifting his head up to meet his partner’s gaze. As relieving as it would be to cling to this plan like a lifeline and dispel of any obstacles that could strip him of his optimism, Bucky was always a logistics person, he needed details before he could let himself free on the fact that in just a few short days, he would soon be in the same space as that beautiful man all over again.

That is, if he actually saw him, which was Bucky's first concern.

"Problem  _not_  solved,” he finally voiced, tapping a finger against the clean counter, “Without his running buddy, he might not even go out. Then what am I supposed to do? Get up at 5:30am for absolutely no reason than hope on some maybe? Yeah, alright,  _maybe_  he might go out running, and  _maybe_ I'll bump into him, but even if I get those two going for me, who says we'll even strike up a conversation and actually keep it going? Hell, he might not even want to talk to me, probably just wants to enjoy his workout and then there's this jerk trying to get in between him and his peace and quiet. Last thing I want is to bother him."

"Yeah," Clint nodded, understanding fully well Bucky's frustration. "All of that _could_ happen, which is why you gotta be there on time right down to the very millisecond,” Clint retorted, quirking an eyebrow at his unsettled friend, “But, frankly, him not wanting to see you should be the least of your worries.”

Bucky almost wanted to cling onto those words, but he simply disregarded them, rolling his eyes at the man standing in front of him.

“Even with all of you and Nat’s horrifying, and might I add potentially _illegal_ ,investigative skills, I doubt you can be sure of that.”

A wide smirk crinkled over Clint’s face, and Bucky couldn’t help but eye him curiously.

“What?”

“Hm?” purred Barton.

“The fuck’s with that face?” Bucky couldn’t hide the excitement that rose up his chest.

Clint looked away for a moment, humming playfully to himself as he adjusted the business cards to his right, lining them perfectly in their little porcelain holder.

“You don’t need investigative skills when Wilson tells you it directly.”

Bucky’s body immediately perked at the new information, and he eyed Clint with an intense gaze, not entirely convinced just yet but unable to hide the interest that sprouted across his face.

He was usually better at hiding himself than this, but Jesus, he could suddenly feel every single jitter that quaked from his fingers.

“What’s wrong, Barnes?” teased Clint, all too aware of the new spark of energy that emanated from Bucky’s posture, “Not gonna ask?”

Bucky grumbled, shifting his footing, listening to the screech of the floor as the rubber of his sole brushed against it. “What’d he say?” his voice was a mere whisper, genuinely interested and secretly dying to know the details of the new information just revealed to him, but too proud to admit just how much he yearned for it.

After years of friendship, Clint didn’t even have to guess, he could read it all over his friend’s face. Lucky for Bucky that Barton didn’t quite feel like poking fun at him today, or he’d have made him beg for it.

“Wilson brought you up sometime last week and asked if the two of you have met up recently, and was surprised when the answer was no – what with the chemistry you two shared at my party. He even went so far as to bring it up in our last archery session, and that’s how you _know_ he didn’t get it. So we got to talking, and a good wing-man knows an opportunity for his buddy when he see’s it, so he texted me a couple nights ago asking if you liked jogging. He could tell you work out, but some guys only like lifting weights, and he couldn’t tell if that was your style since you’re pretty stocky.”

“He’s in on all of this?” to say that he was shocked was an understatement, Bucky couldn’t even begin to comprehend that fact that this wasn’t all started from Natasha needing a break from work.

This was started because Bucky’s wing-man and Steve’s wing-man couldn’t stand the fact that these two losers were stuck on their asses and not doing anything about scheduling a follow-up together to continue where their drunken selves left off.

Though in their defense, work was keeping Bucky from the only place he was sure to find Steve, and it wasn’t like he could just walk into the man’s work and go searching through each floor for the pretty faced blonde.

Suddenly, Saturday was looking a hell of a lot more appealing.

“You ain’tfuckin with me, are you, Barton?” Bucky eyed, trying to will the beating of his heart to return to its previously relaxed pace. “Cause you’re getting my hopes up.”

“I don’t screw around with love, Barnes,” Clint responded melodramatically, and Bucky scoffed, a dry laugh emerging up his throat.“Seriously though, without Wilson we would’ve had to resort to plan B: crash the C-line train right before Rogers stop so you two would be forced on a crowded one. Pushes personal boundaries a little, but you’ve had your arms all over each other before so it’s not that big of a deal.”

“Aww Barton, you were gonna commit a felony for me? You _do_ care,” Bucky batted his long lashes, and Clint rolled his eyes.

“Anything to get your bum ass a boyfriend, you’re getting _old_ , Barnes, I can’t be your emergency contact forever,” the brunette quirked a smile in response, his expression light and gentle the more he let Clint humor him, and his chest swelling the more he let the idea of meeting Steve find refuge in his mind and blossom into excitement.

He could get around to this, if it meant he could watch Steve’s eyes crinkle with mirth again.

Clint watched as Bucky’s features soften, and a relaxed smile slowly began to form across his face. “You warming up to the plan yet?”

Bucky mulled the words over in his head, bringing a hand over to tuck his loose stands of hair behind his ear. “You sure he’s even gonna show up without his running buddy?”there was uncertainty in his tone.

“Positive. Steve never misses a workout unless he’s sicker than a dog, and Sam said he’d take extra precaution to make sure he’s as healthy as possible.”

“Well, that’s great,” and really, it was – but _logistics_ ,“tell him I said thanks, but we don’t even know what route he uses for his runs.”

“Correction: you don’t, yet. One second.”

Bucky stared at Clint in confusion, and couldn’t hide the concern on his face as he watched his friend pull out his cell phone in indifference, punching in his password and navigating over to his messaging app. “Clint, what are you –“

Clint scrolled through his brief conversation with Sam as he tapped on an image sent to him the night prior, maximizing it as he turned the device towards the confused brunette.

Across the screen outlined in stark detail the very trail Sam and Steve often go on, also including a paragraph description that showcased each turn and obvious object that would help guide him through the correct trail.

“Courtesy of our main man: the Falcon.”

“Clint,” Bucky gasped, absolutely overwhelmed from what exactly he was looking at, “This is some stalker shit! This guy’s gonna be enjoying his run and I’m just gonna pop up outta the bushes like a total fuckin’ _creep_ . There’s _no way_ he’s gonna think this was an accident!” Bucky couldn’t help the rise of his tone, this was a dangerous game he was playing, and it was only getting more and more intricate and complex – in the way that made Bucky’s stomach sink with anxiety. There was definitely something horribly wrong with having a person’s exact movements tracked this way, and actually going so far as to use that information for his benefit made Bucky’s chest foam with shame. “I’m serious, this just screams stalker, and it doesn’t help that we originally know each other from the subway.”

“I can understand your hesitancy, this does seem a little weird –“

“A _little_?”

“ _But_ – it _is_ a public area, did you forget that, Barnes? Anyone can go through there, and Sam says they still see new people every couple of weeks. It’s not gonna be odd that he see’s you, it’s not like he owns the path.”

Bucky chewed on his bottom lip, feeling his teeth worry into the sensitive flesh as he felt it slice into the smooth skin, filling traces of copper into his mouth.“It’s one thing to be somewhere by chance and bump into someone by coincidence, and it’s another to actively stake them out. That’s weird, right? It’s not just me, that’s _weird_.”

“You got any other bright ideas then, Barnes? Cause if you wanna wait for ‘coincidence’ or ‘chance’ to intervene, than you might as well hand that pretty boy over to someone else, cause those are some shitty cards you’re holding right now,” Bucky was silent, he really didn’t have any other plans, but he just couldn’t get used to the way this information sat with him. He looked over at Clint with pleading eyes, eyes that defied his very hesitancy in following through with such a plan yet yearned to find refuge in the comfort in the sight of Steve’s beautiful blue orbs. Bucky knew he didn’t have many options, and bidding his luck on the off chance that maybe they’d find a way to see each other again without some sort of effort being made on either side was just plain stupid.

Bucky didn’t need a Bachelor's degree to tell him that that sort of math just didn’t add up, so he took a deep breath, and returned Clint’s gaze, which stared down at him with patience and comprehension.

“Look, you got people from your side _and_ his trying to make this work between you two.”

Bucky nodded, the fact that Sam was secretly messaging Clint information to get the engine on this plan running was incredibly amusing, and Bucky knew for a fact that if this worked out, the first thing he’d do would be to send Wilson over some flowers.

“Is Steve in on it?”

“Nah, Rogers knows he and I are friends, but not scheming-to-hook-our-pals-up kindafriends,”

Bucky worried at his split lip, allowing the dull sting of his new wound to help clear his overwhelmed head.

After taking a moment to exhale a heavy, slow sigh, Bucky straightened his back, listening to the pop and crack of bones. Jesus, maybe he was getting old.

“You put too much faith in me if you expect me to keep up with that cyborg of a man for more than 10 minutes.”

That merited a curious glance from Clint, which Bucky immediately shut down, "I'm serious."

"You work out, Barnes, it'll be _fine_."

"Barton, I haven't really been on top of my game the last couple of weeks. Hell, if he _did_ want to strike up conversation, there's nothing less attractive than me having to answer in one syllable words cause all my energy is focused on keeping my lungs from collapsing." 

“Oh, yeah, totally, it must be _so_ hard being able to lift 400 pounds, Barnes.”Clint quirked.

“That shit ain’t the same as running 6 miles.”

“Then what’s your mile time?”

Bucky shrugged, “Haven’t timed myself in a while.”

“Then you better find out. Your gym card still valid?”

“’Course,”

“Then quit bitching and get your ass over there after work. Go all week if you gotta, which I’d recommend, and no beer or junk food, that shit’s poison for your system.” Bucky nodded simply, he’d just bought a big bag Takis the other day that he wasn’t even halfway through with.

“Oh, and I got _one_ more piece of advice for you,” Clint began, a smile quirked across his face. Bucky didn’t quite appreciate the gleam in Clint’s eye, it made him nervous. “Remember Nat’s bear comment?”

Bucky could feel color erupt on his cheeks, and his brows furrowed in annoyance. “I swear to God, Barton–“

Clint swirled his index fingers across his face, stifling a confused glance from the brunette.

“Don’t shave, seriously.”

Bucky exhaled a deep groan, so loud he was sure he could hear the pigeons sitting on phone wires outside fly away in surprise. “This is gonna shed years off my life,” he slurred, pushing himself off the counter as he shoved his hands back into his pocket, turning towards the exit. His lunch break would be over soon.

“Don’t worry, getting a cute young boyfriend always helps take the stress away!”

“He’s older than me,”

“God Barnes, gotta stop stressing over details and focus on the _now_.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, pushing open the glass door.

“20 bucks says he invites you to coffee!”yelled the artist, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Make it 50,” barked back the brunette, stepping into the main street.

There was no way this was going to work.

 

\--

 

For the first after his conversation with Clint, Bucky’s mind strayed from the usual gray drone of static that erupted through his nerves, and drizzled out into a low hum.

This _actually_ might work.

Bucky felt the conveyor belt underneath him come to a slow halt, his 10 minute cool down finally coming to an end. He watched as numbers displayed on the monitor: mile times, distance covered, average speed, information that felt meaningless unless he had the real living and breathing thing next to him to compare these numbers to.

Sweat streamed down Bucky’s neck and soaked through his shirt, and he let the annoying jab of pain spread across his side distract him from the anxiety that crinkled in his chest.

He’d really slacked on his workout routine for the last few weeks, and he was definitely paying the price for it. He credited that greatly to recent family visits, his hectic work schedule, and Netflix. _Especially_ Netflix, he was in the middle of re-watching Jessica Jones for the third time this month, the man practically lived on his sofa. Regardless, at least his mile time wasn’t nearly as bad as he expected, he was sure all the cheetos he’d been snacking on and the movie marathons that left him immobile for hours on end would have made this ordeal much more agonizingly painful.

Bucky let the idle rumble of gym equipment and machines keep him grounded, the last thing he needed was getting too stuck in his head while standing on a treadmill, staring down the little computer screen as if it held all of the answers behind his problems.

If only it could be that easy.

With all of the information he had to work with, even if Bucky could _somehow_ manage to keep up with Rogers during the run, that posed another issue, one that made Bucky more nervous about than collapsing his own lungs: would they even talk to each other?

It was a complete surprise how well the two of them could keep a conversation going during Clint’s party, but almost 2 weeks had passed since that day, and that was a lot of time to rethink or gain some skepticism.

Fuck, Bucky was never going to get over how badly he ruined things by letting himself turn into a sloppy drunk, his goal for the night was to impress Steve, not drool all over him in some pizza shop, reeking of grease and vodka. What was he, 18 and spilling his guts all over some poor man’s front lawn after he was invited to his first frat boy party and drank more than his body weight in alcohol? Letting Steve see him at his worst was one of the most atrocious moments in his adult life, he was _past_ that, he had all of college to learn how much he could handle, to have friends that always told him to drink water, drink _water_ , just drink some fucking water if you’re going to –

 _Focus_.

Right.

This was about Saturday.

Not about what a total fuck up Bucky was, he could think about that any other time.

Right now he had to concentrate on maintaining a conversation with Steve after he let himself get shitfaced in front of him. Though, at least Steve was just as far gone as him.

No, Steve was _way_ past Bucky, and somehow that made him feel even worse, because the last thing he needed was that precious gentle soul to think that it was _his_ fault they hadn’t seen each other lately. I mean, shit, the guy took off his fuckin’ shirt to reveal all the ink Clint had just put on him in the middle of the goddamn living room, you have to reach a certain level of drunk to _ever_ get that far.

Thinking about that just made him all the more frustrated. He’d gotten a front row seat to gaze upon the most beautiful body ever created in the history of humanity, and he _didn’t even remember it._

A pout formed on his face. Bucky was a firm believer in using your mistakes to drive you towards future success, and damn it, he was going to pour his goddamn heart and soul into making sure Saturday went as smoothly as possible, in the hopes that maybe Steve actually might like him, and might want to spend the rest of the day with him.

Or the rest of his life, whichever he preferred, it was whatever.

(It wasn’t).

Bucky was determined to evade one of the most horrible worst-case scenarios possible: the wave dilemma.

He would be damned if he lifted his hand in greeting, breathed a quick “hi” to the beautiful incandescent man running beside him, and then the two would disband and continue on in their respective paths, without so much as a single word being uttered afterward.

That wasn’t how it was going to be. All of this energy would not be dedicated to just 5 feeble seconds where Steve would notice him, then immediately return his focus onto his workout.

He wasn’t going to force conversation with Steve, but he was going to make damn sure that if the man was willing to give Bucky the time of day, he was going to make it worth it.

Make him laugh, earn a smile or two, anything that merited some sort of enjoyment or pleasure from the taller man and made him happy he gave Bucky a second chance.

Bucky gave a firm nod, as if to validate the resolve that quickly began to bubble through his chest.

It’s been too long since he’s seen the beautiful blond, and he swallowed, hard, jitters racking up the trail of his spine the more he dwelled on the thought.

God, for all he missed him for, this all might be worth it even if he got nothing but 5 puny seconds, the sight alone could help fuel until their next subway ride together. But that wasn’t what Bucky was preparing for. He was chasing after gold, if gold tasted like coffee and looked like a friendly invitation after a good jog.

Bucky stood there in thought, tempted to press the Start button on the screen all over again and continue his run for a few more miles. If by the Glory of God and the might of Zeus Bucky could manage to keep up with the human engine that was Steve Rogers, _and_ keep him mentally stimulated long to prove that he was worth his time and energy, then that just might be the miracle he needs to take him back to church.

His mom’s been hounding him about going, so Saturday working out could benefit everyone in the long run.

Bucky stepped off the treadmill and made his way over to the weights.

In just a short few days, he would see Steve, but it wasn’t like he was counting.

That was a lie. He was definitely counting. 

 

\--

 

Steve was up long before his alarm.

In the time it took him to change the sheets, wash the dishes, and spread out his art supplies for when he returned, it was hardly even 5:30. Changing into his running gear would hardly take longer than a few seconds, and restlessness settled deep into the depth of his very bones, nagging and irritating.

He hadn’t been sleeping well. It was the insomnia – what else would it be? – but it only made Steve all the more impatient as the seconds dragged on heavy and slow, filling him with languid vexation that only amplified the longer he kept himself in his studio apartment.

He needed to get outside.

He hadn’t even bothered glancing over to the kitchen, he wasn’t hungry, even if he could already imagine Sam’s nagging voice telling him to eat something before their heavy workout.

He willingly ignored it.

Drawing open the blinds and sticking a hand out the window to test the temperature, Steve felt the lightest of prickles press against his skin, taking on the form of fresh fog that rolled in through the sleeping streets. Albeit the light wetness to the breeze, Steve was surprised that it wasn’t nearly as cold as he was expecting, though he still made a mental note to pull on a long sleeved shirt instead of his regular t-shirt. Or at least bring a sweater, whatever he could find first.

Steve Rogers knew that anytime he stepped outside on these groggy, New York mornings, it was up to luck alone if he’d start running a fever a couple hours later. Sure, he could easily use the treadmills at his local gym to evade any risk, play the safe card (that no one expected him to), but he couldn’t stand running in place with the view of an ugly parking lot to occupy his mind, not when his apartment was a short 15 minute jog from Prospect Park. If Steve was going to enjoy his workout, he wanted to feel the shift of grass and dirt under the weight of his sneakers instead of some rubbery conveyor belt that whirred anytime it made a cycle, he wanted to fill his aching lungs with the smell of crisp, clean air instead of the sweat factory that was his gym. He wanted to immerse himself in trees and bushes and flowers, not filthy men who didn’t know how to keep their eyes to themselves.

And he couldn’t get any of that at his gym, so he reserved his visits strictly to lifting weights or using the other equipment, he never so much as glanced at the treadmill or elliptical.

Steve removed himself from the window and headed towards his dresser, messily tossing out some clothes that would make do. Black pants, an old shirt, and a grey sweater he zipped half way through. It would make due, he’d gone out in worse weather while wearing much less.

Besides, Steve hadn’t gotten sick _yet_ , so that eliminated any feeling of obligation for him to avoid today’s weather. For as long as he could keep himself healthy, he justified that the outdoors could do him nothing but good, even if he had a drawer full of old hospital bands collected over 25 winters that said otherwise.

25 winters proved to Steve that nature didn’t like him.

26, if he wasn’t careful.

Steve had seen it all. Bronchitis, norovirus, the flu, and his favorite: pneumonia.

It was his favorite because without fail, he’d caught it every consecutive year since the age of 5, and Steve was cautious to keep the ugly thing from contaminating his system all over again.

He remembered crippling fevers and vivid hallucinations that left him writing in pain, unable to differentiate reality from his dreams, but right now, Steve was beyond the point of caring how much his body rejected everything about winter.

With the way his week had gone, he just couldn’t find the energy to care, so he slipped on his sneakers, grabbed his keys, inhaler, and headed for the door.

5:35 am.

Sam wouldn’t be joining him today, so there was nothing wrong with diverting from his regular routine.

Steve descended down the flight of stairs of his apartment, exiting into the street. The moment his foot hit concrete, a cold rush of wind slapped the blond square on the face – his cheeks already burning. He didn’t remember it feeling that windy 2 seconds ago, but he simply shrugged, giving his arms and legs a quick shake.

Street lights illuminated pavement, and the silence of this normally bustling city was comforting.  The sun wouldn’t be out for another two hours, so nothing but a navy blue sky greeted Steve this lovely morning, the stars hung high and shining his way.

Just stepping out of his apartment helped the man cope with the knot that sat laden in his chest, and he swallowed thickly, giving his legs a quick stretch.

Steve made his way down south, warming up his blood before it froze in his veins from inactivity. One of the benefits of rolling out of bed so early was that most joggers waited until 8 or 9 am to start their morning run, so Steve could evade the traffic by never heading out later than 6:15.

It was a time that he and Sam both settled for, and although he’d rather spend the extra hour or two sleeping in, details like that helped Steve enjoy their runs more fully, and Sam was willing to sacrifice the sleep if it made Steve happy.

Sam did so much for Steve that he could feel the guilt twist in his stomach. Sometimes he wondered if he deserved a friend like Sam. He was always too scared to ask himself that, because the same answer always beckoned through his mind. The blond bit at his lower lip and simply ran faster; exertion always helped clear his head, even if he could already begin to feel the rattle of his lungs in response.

Steve had turned in the direction of the dark-skinned man’s apartment, and while waiting at a stop light, he starkly remembered that he was all the way across the country, where it would barely be 2 am.

It was a habit. Even if he was consciously aware that he’d be gone for the next few days, muscle memory brought him this far, and it took the sight of the little Chinese bakery two blocks away from his friend’s apartment to knock him back on track.

Sam would be back come Tuesday, and in the early years of their friendship, the two would go months on end without seeing each other, back when Steve lived in Chicago and Sam studied in San Diego. He was used to not seeing Sam, and he tried to not let living so close to him spoil him too bad.

Still. The ugly head of loneliness settled heavy in Steve’s chest, and he tried desperately to swallow the feeling down. Winter always left him especially pathetic, even without all the illnesses that would keep him bed ridden for weeks on end.

Sometimes Steve hated his own head more than his body. Least his body responded well to medication. His brain? Not so much. But the doctors told him to be patient. Sam told him to be patient.

So he tried to be patient, even if he spent the better part of 9 years doing so.

The diagnosis was just another thing to add to his laundry list of problems, so Steve hadn’t so much as cared when his doctor wrote him his first prescription for anti-depressants.

Then he wrote him another, and another, and another after that.

Steve shook his head violently, bringing a hand up to ruffle at his hair and sink his blunt nails into the skin of his scalp. He hadn’t even noticed he’d run a red light until a car horn blared at him, accompanied by a few sharp curses that bellowed through the street.

Who was even up at this hour?

He was. The crazy jogger. Who damn near got himself run over because he didn’t know how to get out of his own head. That would’ve been a shitty way to go.  

Steve would be sure to ignore this part the next time Sam asked him how his weekend went.

When the blond had finally stepped foot into Prospect Park, adrenaline still rushing and skin slick with the faintest traces of perspiration, the first thing Steve did was fill his aching lunges with the beautiful musk of freshly clipped grass and settled soil.

Steve lived for these mornings. Even if it didn’t completely erase the anxiety that dug deep into his shoulders, nothing could quiet his mind quite like these short, delicious moments of pure peace and tranquility, featherlike in touch but powerful all the same.

Steve clung to this moment like a lifeline – it alone was the highlight of his week, reminded him that there was a reason why his blood coursed through his veins, why there was life inside his body: for this one single luxury.

Setting foot onto his favorite path and digging his heels into the undisturbed earth, Steve let the rustling of tree branches and the distant cry of songbirds to guide him forward.

Everything faded into a muddle of colors, and Steve let himself get lost in the moment, detach from the skin and bones of his body and let the breeze tussle through his hair and clothes; pilot him forward without inhibitions clouding his solace.

Steve continued his first mile in this early morning daze. The sound of approaching footsteps didn’t deter him from his trance, nor was it the sharp breeze that sliced through him when the jogger ran right past him.

It was the sight of broad shoulders and a short, bouncing ponytail that dragged Steve out from his runners high.

"On your left." the stranger said as he passed by, meriting Steve's attention. The blond stared at the man in careful concentration, scratching his brain as he narrowed his focus on the jogger.

Familiar.

That person looked _awfully_ familiar.

Probably a patron that he and Sam had seen sometime before, Steve assumed. Enough people knew about the path that Steve didn’t bother trying to memorize faces, so he didn’t dwell much on it.

At least, not until the person looked back.

Steve damn near tripped over his own feet, heat rising up the length of his spine and settling on the tips of his ears as the hammering of his heart pulled the blond towards the handsome jogger. He stopped in his tracks for a moment, staring blindly into the man a few feet away from him as the light pink hue of his skin ignited into a stark, crimson red.

Bucky.

Just the name alone made the butterflies that laid dormant in his stomach flutter and spark back to life, filling the emptiness of his chest with warmth as they crawled into every inch of space available in Steve’s body.

Logically, the idea of that happening was absolutely nightmare fuel, but in this very moment, where Steve had practically forgotten how to breathe, he felt nothing could describe the feeling he was having more accurately.

“Bucky?” his name came out soft like a whisper, hesitant.

The blonde’s gaze immediately traveled down the length of the man’s body, settling on the darkened flesh of his left arm. Ink so delicately rested against the tan skin underneath, solidifying any worry Steve had that he wasn’t mistaking the jogger for someone else.  

Fuck, he looked godly in messy hair and a sweat damp t-shirt, it was horribly distracting, as if Steve didn’t already have enough things to concentrate on.

Even from this distance, Steve watched the man shift his shoulders slightly in Steve’s direction, a gentle smile stretching across the expanse of his face and exposing the faintest glint of his teeth.The sharp speed he carried earlier had now mulled over into a slow jog, and he brought a hand over into Steve’s direct line of site, first waving in a generic joggers greeting, but then ending with the curling of his fingers towards him, acting as an invitation.

And that was one proposal Steve wouldn’t deny. Steve ran forward at full speed before he could think, letting raw instinct take over. But the closer Steve approached, the more he felt panic begin to race through his body, sharp and agonizing.

Oh God, he hadn’t seen him since Clint’s party.

It had been weeks. Did Bucky know that? Was Steve the only one who cared enough to count?

Thoughts pulsed through his mind so quickly that Steve couldn’t even prepare for the onslaught.

_Did I scare you off?_

_Did I say something rude when I was wasted?_

_I was too clingy, wasn’t I?_

_I’m a clingy drunk, I know, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to –_

“Hey, stranger,” Bucky’s voice came out like velvet and Steve felt every nerve in his body fire in response. God, he sounded like smooth caramel being drizzled into a fresh mug of hot coffee, and Steve just wanted to drink him in for all he was worth, savor him, lick his lips when he was done and take him for all he is.

Bags under his eyes and unshaven. Gaze gentle but inviting. Steve was playing a dangerous game.

“Hi,” his voice came out scratchy and harsh, hard on the ears. God, he was nervous. Steve couldn’t even get the greeting right, and that only proved that he was doomed from the start. Instinctively, Steve dipped his head down, avoiding eye contact as the two men stood there, cheeks blazing red with embarrassment. He expected Bucky to raise an eyebrow, sneer at this adult’s incompetency to maintain a conversation, and continue on his way, never so much as looking back in search of someone more deserving of his company. Steve wouldn’t have blamed him, really, that was truth, so he settled his gaze on the soft path beneath them, waiting to watch Bucky’s move from their current position and leave his line of sight.

But instead, Bucky pressed on.

“It’s been a while,” the brunette smiled, and Steve simply nodded. Jesus, what was wrong with him lately? The fact that his prayers had been answered and he was able to see Bucky again was ruined by his inability to formulate coherent speech. He didn’t want him to think he wasn’t interested, that he didn’t care, because Steve did, very much so, yet his thought process felt so distorted and frayed that where one idea landed, another one quickly came over and knocked it off tangent.

It was Steve’s worst nightmare personified.

At least the night they properly met was one of Steve’s better days, but now it was like his grasp on reality had dwindled down from a bean stalk into a mere sprout, shrinking from the lack of sunshine and fading away with the bite of winter. The last time he felt this scattered was Christmas, and at least there was reason as to why he was so incompetent that day. But today? Nothing explained why he should feel so out of control on such an ordinary day.

Steve worried at his bottom lip, swallowing thickly. He knew there never had to be a _reason_ as to why his behavior shifted this way, it just happened, and all he could do was grit his teeth and get through it as he always did.

Steve felt patient eyes rest on him, and it helped soothe the fear that nested heavy in his chest. He took in a deep breath to compose himself.

Speak, damn it, you _know_ how to form words, Rogers.

So do it.

“Yeah,” he cleared his throat, returning the brunette’s gaze, “Long time no see. How are you, Buck?”

“I’m great, thanks for asking,” Steve watched as Bucky smiled through his eyes, and felt the slightest bit of warmth blossom up his chest. He couldn’t help but smile in response, he was glad he had been doing well. “Didn’t mean to bother you on your run, but I wanted to say hi,”

A sheepish smile found its way on Steve’s face, and it sat there for a moment, “It’s fine.” he responded gently, feeling embarrassed. “I’m glad you did, was wondering where you’d been. You still take the subway every day?”

“Mhm, but works got me caught up, so I leave an extra hour later now,” he answered simply, and the knot that rested in Steve’s chest slowly unfastened, alleviated by the new information. So it really was just work, he was relieved to hear that. “It’s not ideal, but what can ya do, Stark said it’s only temporary, so you might just be seeing more of me soon enough,”

“Sure hope so,” Steve responded a little too quickly, and he felt his ears erupt with color. He laughed nervously to himself, bringing a hand over to rub at the back of his neck.

When he glanced back up, he watched a pleasant smile settle on Bucky’s face, clearly appreciating the comment. “Uh, so – I haven’t seen you here before. You always go running this early?”

“Never, actually,” shrugged the brunette, “but I’m trying to take better care of myself, been a lazy couch potato since Christmas,”

Steve chuckled, glancing over his watch, “It’s hardly even 6 am. You weren’t going to wait until the sun came out?”

“Eh, less people are out this hour.”

Steve beamed at the answer, and nodded a little too energetically at it. “Yeah, same. I’m usually with Sam during my runs, but he’s out of town. You remember Sam, right?”

“You mean the guy that practically saved us from getting run over every time we ran into the street? Man practically saved our lives, you don’t forget something like that,” Bucky responded, pretending to be shocked by the fact that Steve would ask him something like that. The taller man responded with a snort, rolling his eyes.

“Anyways, I didn’t mean to interrupt your jog—” Bucky began, sounding as if he was preparing to conclude their conversation. Steve’s eyes snapped open for a moment, already reaching out to grab for the man’s arm to stop him, even if he had yet to move from his current position.

“No, it’s fine, really,” he began, voice a little desperate. When he received a surprised expression from Buck, he cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure. “Are you almost done with your run?”

“Nah, got a couple more miles left,”

“Me too. I mean, I hope this isn’t weird to ask, you could say no if you wanted to, of course, if it isn’t any trouble, but if you were alright with it –“ Jesus, he was nervous, and Bucky was eying him curiously, “do you mind if I joined you?”   

Steve froze when Bucky’s eyes flashed in amusement, watching his expression go slack. “Hell, everything’s better with company,”

A shy smile crept up Steve’s features, and he nodded, following behind the shorter male as they continued down the path.

There was something about Bucky that helped put Steve’s mind to rest. Being around him was so easy, so effortless, he just naturally tugged the words right out of his mouth, even if they came out nonsensical and sporadic. Regardless, this was the most Steve had spoken to anyone all of this week, and the thought alone made his skin goosebump.   

God, this was too good to be true.

“You’re pretty fast,” Steve commented after a few minutes of silence, meriting a confused reaction from the brunette. “When you passed me earlier. Flew right by me,”

“Thanks, almost did track in High School,”

Steve snorted, “Almost?”

“Hey, I had grades to maintain and a job that needed me, Rogers,” he retorted, and Steve nodded, “Though to be honest, I wanna see how fast _you_ can go,”

“That a challenge?”

“Mhmm,”

Steve quipped an eyebrow, and Bucky gave him a daring look. “You ever been on this trail before?”

“Nope,”

“Two miles down there’s a big fountain that cuts this path off. If you got enough steam in those old bones of yours, let’s race down there,”

Bucky scoffed, “Just who’re you callin’ old? Last I remembered, you’re older than me by a full year,”

Steve simply shrugged, and Bucky stepped a little closer to the taller man, slowing his pace. “If we’re gonna race, why don’t we make this a little interesting, huh?” he breathed, hands resting firmly on his hips. Steve paused beside him, head cocked to the side. “Everything’s a little more exciting with a little wager. How about this: winner buys the loser coffee afterward?”

“You really _are_ getting old, Barnes. Isn’t the loser supposed to do the buying?” Steve laughed, “And who says _you’ll_ be the winner?”

“C’mon Stevie,” Bucky smooth talked, mock sweetness in his tone, “Just gimme an excuse to buy you coffee, alright? It’d be a goddamn honor,” Bucky winked, and Steve snickered, cheeks betraying the piqued expression he tried to give.

God, Bucky was being a terrible flirt, absolutely awful.

Steve loved it.

The blond responded by rolling his eyes and giving his neck a crack.

“Ready?” Steve smirked, lining himself beside Bucky.

“Be my guest, Rogers.”

The two proceeded forward, their speed significantly faster compared to the leisure jog they enjoyed previously. Occasionally there would be a nudge of an elbow, a tease here and there, but the two men continued onward, even waving anytime another jogger passed them. Every so often Bucky would purposely push himself until he was a few steps ahead of his partner, a sneer permanently etched onto his face. Steve fed to this competitive fire by returning the gesture tenfold, keeping a full foots distance between himself and Bucky and listening enthusiastically to the brunette’s heavy breathing anytime he raced to keep in front of Steve.

Steve gave a shit-eating grin when he watched Bucky’s nostrils flare, the competitive gleam in his eyes intensifying. Bucky responded by keeping two feet in front of the blond, and it wasn’t long until the two men began sprinting at full force, shoulders mere inches from each other as they competed over who would keep the upper hand.

They still had well over a mile to go and sprinting this early would surely result in burning out, but both men were too proud to admit any mistake on their part by instigating this.

When Steve listened to the ragged gasp Bucky exhaled, he turned towards the man at his left, eyebrow perked.

“That engine of yours running out, Barnes? Wanna slow down?” Steve mocked, lips curled into a devious smile.

Bucky responded by finding the energy necessary to push himself forward, right in front of Steve. Even if he was just a single step ahead of Steve, it was all he needed to win, so he just had muster up the strength to keep it up for a while longer.

When they reached a steep staircase, Bucky’s vision was obstructed with the tussle of ruffled golden hair and broad shoulders he wanted desperately to hold in his arms. He watched Steve effortlessly bound up the stairs as the distance between them increased, Bucky’s lungs screeching with the force of a hundred archangels anytime he took another step.

God, Steve knew how to provide a great view, and he hated how he couldn’t help but gawk. Even in his baggy pants and sweater, Bucky could still make the outlines of his thighs and hips, the curve up his torso and the expanse of his shoulders. It was a shame that Steve couldn’t see just how beautiful he really was, because the sight alone made Bucky damn near stop in his tracks, and just take the moment to marvel and admire the beauty in front of him. He snapped his gaze away, and when they reached the top of the stairs he used that motivation to push forward, albeit the protest he was receiving from every cell in his body.

When they returned back into the regular flat path, Bucky gained momentum and passed the beautiful blond, giving him a wink in the process and he continued forward at full force. For a moment he admired the small victory of still being able to move, let alone stand, after the blinding hot pain that raked up his body, but Bucky simply laughed, relishing his current lead.

When he listened to the faint sound of coughing behind him, the brunette smirked, keeping forward. “You alright back there, Stevie?” Bucky quipped, and when he turned back to glance over at the blond, he could feel the humor leave his tone and the smile fade from his face.

Steve stood a couple feet back, near the top of the staircase they had just climbed. He was hunched over and a hand was brought up to his mouth, his body in a soul-wrenching coughing fit that erupted up his throat and strained at his lungs. Panic sunk its teeth heavy into Bucky’s shoulders and he raced back to him, adrenaline coursing hot and fast through his system.

“Holy shit, Steve, are you alright?”

Same question, different meaning.

He watched tears prickle through the corners of Steve’s shut eyes as heavy coughs ripped through his throat, stinging and painful. The taller man brought his hand up towards Bucky, indicating that he was alright in an effort to console the worried man. Quickly, Steve shoved his right hand into the pocket of his pants; searching. Pulling out an inhale, Steve gave the item a quick couple of shakes, calmly removing the cap even as tears stung his eyes, blurring his vision.

Exhaling, Steve brought the item to his red, chapped lips, giving the canister a slow squeeze as he breathed in the formula, letting it sit in his lungs for a few seconds before slowly exhaling.

Bucky watched vigilantly, never so much as breathing.

Once he was done, Steve slowly opened his eyes and placed the cap back onto the device, sliding it into the crook of his pants as he straightened his posture, wiping away the tears that pooled at the corners of his eyes.

“Sorry,” Steve spoke softly, bringing a hand over to rub at his chest, his lungs aching, “Didn’t mean to cut our race short,”

Bucky stood there for a moment in silence, licking his lips nervously, “Jesus Steve, I couldn’t care less about the dumb race,” he answered honestly, his tone sincere but horribly anxious. “Are you alright?” he wouldn’t stop asking until he got a definitive response. Bucky hadn’t felt that helpless in a while, he just stood there worthless and in shock while he watched the blond practically cough up a lung.

Bucky never appreciated inhalers more than in this single moment.

Steve simply nodded to the man’s question, suddenly winded and all energy drained from him. He brought a hand over to ruffle at his messy hair, rubbing at his bloodshot eyes. Bucky glanced around them and turned in the nearest direction of a bench a few feet away from them. “Did you wanna sit down?”

“No, I’m okay,” he answered simply. “I always carry one with me. I’ve had asthma since I was a kid, so you really don’t have to worry,”

Steve gave him a strained smile, and Bucky nodded dumbly, following behind the tall man as he proceeded down the path. Steve walked forward in a slow pace, eyes dark and hands shoved into his pockets as his gaze remained downcast.

There was no reason as to why he should feel so ashamed for what happened, he’d had an asthma attack in front of each of his friends at least once before, so it made no difference that Bucky saw it as well. Steve had felt it coming long before the stairwell, and it was quite frankly stupid of him to ignore it in favor of keeping up the pleasant mood they maintained. But Bucky was smiling, laughing, teasing and making Steve feel like the world, that he felt silly asking them to pause their race just to take a puff of his inhaler.  Thinking back on it, he was sure that Bucky wouldn’t have minded even if he did ask, he probably would have appreciated it. He felt silly for letting it form into a full on attack when prevention would have taken at max 15 seconds. Steve was focusing on it too intently, he knew he was, but the anxiety of earlier which had faded away in the heat of their race now returned full force, choking the older man until he groaned. An incessant need to apologize filled Steve’s core, and he bit his lip hard to keep the words from spilling out. He almost felt too ashamed to glance over at Bucky, who he was certain was just concerned for his well-being.

“So, the place you like going to --” started the brunette, knocking Steve out of his thoughts, “What time do they open? Cause it’s 6:30 and most places I know don’t open till 8.”

Steve eyed Bucky, confused.

“Huh?”

“Coffee.” the brunette answered simply, clarifying.

Steve’s expression only intensified, still not entirely comprehending.

Bucky chuckled, expression gentle, “Just cause no one won doesn’t mean we can’t still get coffee,”  

Steve stared at Bucky dumbly, brows furrowed.

“You still wanna get coffee? With _me_?”

“Of course,” Bucky answered, a little too enthusiastically. He tried to reel it back, but something about Steve just sparked an excitement deep in his belly that yearned to be heard and known. “I like spending time with you,” he admitted simply, not even following the statement with the shrug of a shoulder or the flick of his wrist. He simply let the words hang in the air, sit there for a moment before being disturbed.

“Oh,” Steve exhaled, lips falling open as he tried to articulate the feelings that surged through his body. Relief. Surprise. Confusion? Happiness. When nothing came out, Steve dipped his head down shyly, meriting a gentle smile from the brunette.

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to,” he added simply, tone soft.

“No, no,” Steve answered immediately, cheeks flaring, “Sorry, I’m just a little -- “ flustered, horribly, terribly flustered, “Uh, the place opens at 6, so we can head there whenever you want. It’s why I like going there, they’re already open by the time my workout ends,”

“I’m guessing you’re a regular there?”

“Just on Saturday’s,”

“Their coffee good?” Not that it mattered, Bucky would gladly spend money on burnt coffee that tasted of rotten soil if it meant he could spend it drinking it with Steve.

“Yeah,” Steve smiled, “I missed the workout after Clint’s party and Scott asked where I’d been when I came in the following weekend. Thought I had to have keeled over to not be there in the morning,”

“You two on a first name basis?”

Steve nodded, and Bucky whistled, “Damn Steve, can’t ever get coffee anywhere else now,”

The blonde simply laughed at that.

“Did you wanna head over now?” he didn’t even bother to mask the timidness in his tone with fake-confidence, he entire body screamed of bashfulness as he waited nervously for Bucky’s response. He still couldn’t fathom that Bucky would willingly want to spend time with him, especially after being exposed to what a wreck Steve Rogers really was.

“Hell yeah, I could use a latte,”

Flowers blossomed in Steve’s chest. “Okay,” he responded simply, and could feel his lips tug into a natural smile. Steve proceeded down a new path, his body language relaxed albeit the chaos that thundered through his head. The storm hadn’t initially erupted from Steve’s anxiety, but spending time with Bucky, and being reassured that the shorter man was just as excited about grabbing a quick cup of coffee with the blonde filled Steve’s very core with emotions that each fought for dominance.

It was all too much that for a while, Steve felt as if he was going to short circuit.

As they exited the park and entered into the streets - vacant and making Brooklyn parallel a ghost town - they made their way down to 16th street, and Steve entered first into the little, homey coffee shop. From the moment his right foot landed inside and he turned to keep the door open for Bucky, the tall man behind the counter leaned forward, brow raised.

“Steven, did you skimp out on your workout, young man? You’re early!”

“Wow, you two really are on a first name basis.” Bucky snorted, and Steve rubbed at the back of his head.

“Good to see you too, Scott.”

The man turned to the stranger at Steve’s left, giving a teasing smile as he eyed the man curiously, “Since when did you have friends outside of Wilson?”

“Oh my God,” Steve smirked, finding delight in the comment. From how inseparable he and Sam were, it was surprising for Steve to show up without him. "This is Bucky, we ran into each other on the trail. Sam's outta town for the weekend."

“Good, I still don’t have my bet money ready.” he sighed, already punching numbers into the register. “Bucky, I already got Steve’s order, but what do you want?”

“Latte.” he answered simply, pulling out his wallet well before Steve had even thought to reach for his. Bucky gave him a devious smirk at that, but it didn’t stop Steve from elbowing at his side.

Scott eyed them, mocking a vomiting face at the playful teases the two men exchanged between one another. “Since you’re with Rogers, and it’s not even the ass crack of dawn yet, it’s on the house.”

Bucky had been ready to protest, but the man simply moved behind the counter, navigating towards the coffee machine as Steve gave his thanks to the employee. The blond proceeded down the coffee shop, finding a seat beside the window.

It was still horribly dark outside, and would continue to be so for at least another hour. God, he hated winter.

Bucky moved to sit in the seat directly in front of Steve, remembering that the last time they were in any business establishment, they were crunched right up against each other, intertwined in a fit of arms and long legs that looked horribly uncomfortable, but the two men had found perfect.

Bringing a hand back to smooth at the loose strands of hair that tickled at his forehead, Steve exchanged a gentle smile to him. Steve watched the way Bucky’s body always snapped into focus the moment his voice exhaled even the faintest of breaths, as if the brunette was horrified of missing even a single moment together with the man beside him. That gesture always made something flutter in Steve’s chest, and it only amplified the nervousness that continuously itched under his skin. Even when he made the lamest of attempts to continue their conversation, Bucky would respond with wholehearted answers, appreciating the effort the taller man made and maintaining whatever tangent the two carried.

He was so entranced with every detail of Steve Rogers that he hadn’t even noticed when Scott approached the two men, two hot cups of coffee in each hand.

“Black coffee and a latte; enjoy.” he melodramatically served, placing the respective cups in front of the two men. A mediocre attempt at a heart was formed on top of Bucky’s beverage, disfigured to the point where Bucky couldn’t even make out the shape, but Steve had known Lang long enough to know that it was without doubt made on purpose. “And your receipt, Rogers,”

“I didn’t even pay for it.” he snorted.

“Your _receipt._ ” Scott enunciated, handing the little sheet of paper towards the blond.

Steve reluctantly accepted the flimsy piece of paper, eyebrow perked. His eyes scanned over their order, the date, information that was worthless granted that he hadn’t spent a penny for their coffee.

It wasn’t until Steve reached the very bottom of the tiny sheet that red ink seized his attention, incessant and demanding to be acknowledged.

**_He’s cute. You two fonduing yet?_ **

Steve could feel the blush travel across his cheeks and down the nape of his neck.

“Scott!” he immediately regretted his response, he just added unneeded attention to the entire act, just like the barista wanted, and anticipated for.

“That a yes?” he sneered.

“Yes to what?” Bucky was lost, wanting to be included.

“Nothing!” Steve exclaimed, his face red as he shoved the little paper receipt into his pocket. His skin was aflame with embarrassment and he was sure Bucky could smell him seething.

Suddenly, Steve’s phone vibrated, indicating a new text message being received.

What Steve received was a gif of two random characters from a TV show he didn’t recognize making out gracelessly, with a single heart emoji attached below it.

It was from Scott. Of _course_ it was from Scott.

When Steve returned his gaze to the man behind the counter, the asshole was in the process of wiping down the counter, whistling an innocent tune that did little to distract from the shit-eating grin he currently wore.

Rolling at his eyes, Steve took a long, sweet sip of his coffee, enjoying the pleasant bitterness that sat on his tongue as the hot ceramic warmed at his frozen fingers.

“How’s your coffee?” he asked after a moment, eying the brunette in front of him.

“Great, I can see why you like this place.”

When Steve’s gaze shifted to the employee momentarily, he watched him give kissy faces to the empty space beside him.

“I’m glad.” Steve answered simply, listening to the clink of his mug as it settled on the little plate below him.

“So -” Bucky began, licking away at the foam that sat gingerly over his top lip. Steve hadn’t even so much as blinked during the act, and he would be sure to repeat that single moment in his head, over and over again, for the rest of his morning. And afternoon. And _definitely_ evening. “I don’t know if you have any plans this weekend, but if you were free...maybe you wanted to hang out tonight? Or get dinner? I’m free whenever”

A quartet of violins erupted in song in Steve’s heart, and the man stared at the brunette dumbly, too surprised and honored and fucking _overjoyed_ at the words that were just being directed to him to even say anything at first. Steve opened his mouth, wholeheartedly ready to accept the invitation, until reality sat cold and heavy in his chest, sinking down into his stomach until it dragged down to the floor at his feet.

“I’d love to,” Steve began, eyes bright and smile gentle, but albeit the beautiful reaction he had received, Bucky heard the decline in Steve’s tone, and he could feel his chest crinkle as he waited for the -

“ _But_ -” and there it was, just as painful as Bucky expected it to be. The brunette tried not to let his shoulders sag forward, masking the disappointment written over his face with a patient smile, “I really need to spend the weekend finishing up a commission, it’s due soon and I’m behind schedule,” Steve had difficulty concentrating all week, and he was suffering for it. If he chose to ignore it for even a night longer, he’d risk losing all credibility as a professional by either needing to ask for an extension, or offering something to his client that he knew was rushed and clearly lacked the finesse he so desperately strived to provide for anyone who sought to hire him. And Steve wasn’t going to have that, even if he wanted to spend the whole night learning Bucky’s life story and sharing a drink or two with him. And this time, he’d be certain it never went past that.

When Bucky simply responded with a smile and nodded at Steve’s reasoning, it helped soothe the blond, who was also suffering from the disappointment of the rejection. “You do what you gotta do, Steve, no rush,” and Steve smiled at those words, relieved. “We can always find another time,”

“Yeah,” Steve added enthusiastically, giving it a thought, “Our work is only one subway stop from each other, so we could always just grab lunch together? If that wouldn’t be a hassle to you, that is.”

“No hassle,” Bucky beamed, smiling through his eyes. “Your lunch is from 12 to 1, right?” Steve nodded, and Bucky hummed in approval. “Did you wanna do Monday?”

“Yeah, Monday works,” Steve’s eyes were attentive and glossy, watching with stark detail the way Bucky’s lips smoothed into a grin.

“Great, it’s a date, then.”

The hue in Steve’s cheeks deepened, and he nervously laughed, feeling a litany of giggles spill from his lips as he shifted in his seat, “Yeah, okay, a date.” the word almost felt forbidden to repeat, but he let the taste mellow on his tongue for a moment longer, enjoying the sickly stark sweetness of it and what it entailed.

Almost an hour later, when the two had downed a few more cups of coffee and savored freshly baked goodies, they exchanged numbers and said their goodbye’s before making their ways down to their respective apartments.

When Steve finally returned home, he sank into the comfort of his mattress and covered his overheated face with his pillow, writhing against his sheets as excitement bubbled up his chest and throughout his entire body. The man hadn’t so much as acknowledged the painting materials laid out onto his kitchen table, he simply laid in bed until the fit of giggles that trailed up his throat slowly died down. And they didn't, not for another 20 minutes, and then again 15 minutes after that, and a full hour after that. 

Fuck. For once in his life, he couldn’t wait until the weekend was over.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for your patience, lovelies! I rewrote this chapter about 3 times and did a lot of revising and editing concerning the scenes and writing, so this chapter has definitely been quite the process. Regardless, please kudos/comment to show your support, every little thing helps and it keeps me motivated to keep posting :) 
> 
> In addition, I plan on posting a (few?) oneshot(s) soon to my profile, (Stucky ofc), so look out for those as well! 
> 
> Also lol, this is Steve's [workout out](http://i.dailymail.co.uk/i/pix/2016/01/28/07/30A601CE00000578-0-image-a-46_1453967379211.jpg) outfit lol
> 
> Since I do not have anything else pre-written for chapter 6 yet, the next update will be within the next week or so. See you all soon! <3
> 
> Find me on [tumblr!](badbrooklynbitch.tumblr.com)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> These two losers finally go on a date. Tooth rotting fluff up ahead!

There were many things Bucky Barnes refused to admit.

How much he paid while bidding on a signed _Back to the Future_ poster back when he was young and stupid, the amount of times he locked himself out of his apartment because he left his key in his last pair of pants, and the fact that he could recite the entire screenplay of the first _Ghostbusters_ movie were all things he quickly steered any conversation away from.

But high on that list, as of 7:45 this horribly groggy Monday morning, he refused to admit just how long he had taken to get ready.

At this time Bucky would just be slipping out of bed, practically crawling his way from his carpeted bedroom into the tile floored kitchen to turn on his coffee maker machine, laying there in his own anguish until it sputtered out enough liquid gold to fuel the brunet enough to find the motivation to care about going to work.

At this time, Bucky would just be slipping into the shower, rummaging through his drawers for some pathetic, makeshift outfit that hardly paid any semblance to the professionalism he was _supposed_ to maintain regularly at work, and then practically running out of his apartment to make the 8:30 train.

At this time, Bucky was not supposed to already be dressed and ready for his day, eyeing himself in the mirror for any imperfections that continued to linger after his non-stopped preening. He tightened and loosened his tie for the 12th time that hour, unable to direct the fidgeting and nervous energy into a more constructive activity.

"You look fine," he muttered to himself, eyeing a strand of hair that beckoned to slip out from his pony tail, "Relax."

That did little to stop him from instinctively reaching up and smoothing the little strand down, willing it in place with a firm press and the glue of some spit.

He cleared his throat experimentally, pressing the palm of his hand against his white collared shirt as he straightened his posture, playing with the angles of his stance until he found one he felt satisfied with.

Bucky Barnes was not a morning person, everyone knew that. Nor was he a Monday person, everyone knew _that_.

What they didn’t know was the only motivation Bucky had for actually making himself look presentable this morning rested in a rosy cheeked man with tousled blond hair and gentle hands he constantly kept occupied with an old pencil that had been sharpened into a short nub.

"Jesus," Bucky breathed, exiting the bathroom and wondering if it would be too over the top to put on cologne, "You’re ridiculous."

Yes, yes he was.

When Bucky had stepped out of his first shower, hair drying a bit frizzy and failing to salvage it when he over-compensated by putting on too much hair gel, the brunet corrected the situation by hopping _back_ into the shower, running his fingers through the greasy, hardening material until it was thoroughly wrung out from his wavy locks.

Bucky wouldn’t admit that he slipped on a bar of soap when he remembered too intently the gorgeous hue of red that painted Steve’s lips during their morning jog, and he _certainly_ wouldn’t admit that it took him 3 showers until he felt satisfied with his current appearance, practically scrubbing off at least two layers of skin and tearing out half his hair until he squeaked and gleamed anytime he moved.

The fact that he currently wore one of his best shirts, seams resting so perfectly against the frame of his body as if the damn thing had been tailored for him, paired with his favorite pants, distracted the brunet from remembering it was hardly the ass crack of dawn and he was still another cup of coffee shy from falling right back into bed.

The only thing keeping him standing was the fact that he had _finally_ got his mess of a hair looking presentable, and genuinely feared ruining it before his date even got the chance to see it.

As Bucky navigated back into the kitchen, he grabbed the thermos Natasha had kindly bought him after her last visit to San Francisco, and filled it up until it was heavy and hot with fresh coffee. Bucky was never more horrified of spilling coffee onto his shirt, and he sprinkled his sugar and tightened the cap until he was certain it would snap, tilting it upside down over the sink to ensure it was secure.

He’d be damned if after all of his hard work, a coffee stain would be the factor to sabotage his perfect look, and after he had given himself one last look over in the mirror, he grabbed his coat and headed towards the subway.

When it was the right occasion - which was pretty much anything _except_ for work - everyone knew that Bucky Barnes preened himself like a goddamn peacock, dedicating over an hour at a time to simply picking out an outfit, let alone fixing his hair, assigning the correct accessories, and choosing which cologne best suited the night. Even when he didn’t have an audience or wasn’t looking to impress someone, the man found pleasure in granting himself the simple pleasure of spoiling himself.

But when he _did_ want to catch someone’s eye?

Well, Bucky was more than tempted to snap a quick picture of his outfit and get a second opinion from the most stylish person he knew - Romanoff.

Everyone who knew Bucky knew that he walked into the office with his tie still shoved into his backpack and his shirt buttoned up into the wrong holes, his belt missing at least two of his pant loops and his stubble prickly and unshaven after days of neglect.

Bucky had maintained quite the reputation of walking into work looking like a living trainwreck at 8:59 and stepping out of their office’s bathroom at 9:15 looking polished as ever, with even the faintest traces of cologne lingering from his shirt and all his frayed strands of hair smoothed into place. He did a damn good job at what he did, and any boss who monitored him, including Stark, cared little if he walked in looking like an untamed beast so long as he fixed himself up before stepping into any scheduled meetings or conferences.  

This morning, his coworkers were expecting him to run into work 20 seconds before 9, a fresh stain of coffee already nestled into his shirt on the rare mornings he had the balls to run to Starbucks before work, and his hair the living embodiment of a male lion’s mane.

That was the Bucky Barnes everyone was expecting.

That was the Bucky Barnes they had come to love and respect and _tease_.

Not a man who walked in 15 minutes early, stride slow and relaxed and so horribly _different_ from his usual routine, that it was as if this was an entirely new man who fabricated himself to appear like James Buchanan Barnes. The brunet nonchalantly sipped at his thermos of coffee, set his backpack down in his cubicle and began preparing for the work day. It wasn’t until Bucky had so much as turned on his computer that a voice finally bellowed through the office space.

“We get a new intern?” Angie whistled from her desk, lacking any subtlety as she rose from her seat and made her way over into Bucky’s work space. “Just _who_ is this? Never thought Stark would fire his best engineer just ‘cause he was late more than half the week.”

“Very funny,” Bucky quipped, feigning normalcy as he typed in his password, “New year’s resolution, Ms. Martinelli. I’m trying to get here early from now on.”

She snorted, “Buck, it’s the third week of January, it took you this long to start?”

“Better late than never.” he smirked.

Because yes, he was definitely here early because of his commitment to his work and his desire to improve himself as one of Stark’s employees.

It definitely wasn’t because he could hardly sleep last night from the butterflies in his stomach that buzzed and fluttered all weekend long in utter anticipation.

And it _definitely_ wasn’t because he had a date.

Of course not.

 

***

 

**_we still on for tomorrow?_ **

Bucky was pleasantly surprised to wake up Sunday morning to such a heavenly text awaiting him. Sunlight filtered in through the blinds, the bite of winter had yet to creep into his apartment, and Steve Rogers was following up on their decision to grab lunch. Bucky had never received a sweeter text in his life, knowing his crush was just as excited to reunite as he was.

Rubbing the sleep out from his eyes, Bucky promptly responded back upon seeing the text, giving his knuckles a quick pop as he straightened his back against the bed frame.

Bucky was determined to not fuck this up.

He didn’t want a repeat of Jack, and he most certainly didn’t want another disaster like Emily happening in his life. No, he had learned from his many, _many_ mistakes of developing a new relationship, spent countless nights recognizing his flaws and promised to himself that he’d use such mistakes to shape a better future with his next romantic interest.

Bucky’s phone vibrated a few minutes later when he entered into the kitchen, pouring milk into his coffee. One of his flaws as a proper adult was that he’d never learned to drink his coffee black, he often downed it in creamer and milk until he paid no semblance to its rich, original color. He was definitely still shocked and impressed to know that Steve hadn’t so much as put even a single sugar cube or splenda packet into the coffee he ordered Saturday morning, savoring his drink without even a little sweetener or cream.

**_awesome_ ** read the next text after Bucky’s confirmation, **_anything in particular you in the mood for?_ **

From the short series of texts he had exchanged with Steve to smooth out the details for lunch, Rogers came across as the type of person who was, quite frankly, not picky about his meals. Which both opened up dozens of options for Bucky to probe and consider, but also left him with too much room to work with. Steve had trusted him to choose the restaurant they ate at for lunch, and Bucky both revelled and feared at the power that gave him.

He’d be damned if their first date took place in a Chipotle, and Bucky wasn’t too keen on the few restaurants he previously visited which were filled so full the walls expanded outward.

From the little he knew about Steve and how he operated in crowded settings, that was an important factor to consider and definitely steer away from. He wanted Steve comfortable during their time together, and he weighed his options with careful precision, taking his responsibility seriously.

After careful thought, Bucky recommended the Venezuelan restaurant a few blocks away from Steve’s work, tucked away on Essex street.

**_never had it_ ** was his first response, and Bucky was halfway through typing a new suggestion when Steve pressed on. **_but it sounds great! what do you like there?_ **

Bucky sighed in relief. Hardest part was over, he could breathe again.

**everything ive ordered was good, but i like their cachapas**

Bucky then proceeded to send Steve the menu someone had posted over on the restaurant’s yelp page, and read the next 20 texts he received about everything the blond wanted to try.

**indecisive much?** Bucky smirked, cheeks aching from how intensely he’d been smiling this whole time. His coffee had long ago gone cold, but he hadn’t so much as noticed, far too immersed in how casually Steve sent him text after text with excitement about the new things he wanted to try.

Steve was being adorable. Horribly, terribly adorable, and Bucky was falling straight into whatever trap he had laid out before him.

After nearly 15 minutes of pure indecision, Bucky was unsurprised by the next text he received.

**_i can’t decide_ ** the blond admitted after 10 silent minutes. **_you choose, surprise me._ **

And that was exactly what Bucky was going to do.

He planned on showing up 15 minutes before the lunch rush, secure a table, and order so the food would be hot and ready by the time Steve arrived. Though it wouldn’t be the most scenic route to walk through, at least the two could enjoy some fresh air together before they returned back to their designated work spaces.

And hopefully, oh dear God _hopefully_ , if Steve enjoyed their short lunch date enough, he’d be willing to enlighten Bucky with a second date and grace him with his presence all over again, give him that damn rosey cheeked smile and bashful look that left the brunet a weak and pathetic mess, melting into the concrete like the love-struck sap he was.

Bucky was determined not to fuck this up.

There was no such thing as a perfect date, but he would be damned if he ruined this perfect opportunity.

As Bucky bounded through the streets, excitement bubbling hot and quick through his veins, he hummed in satisfaction.

By the grace of the cosmos, there were no delays at work and he was able to leave early for lunch, already setting in motion the perfect start to beginning his plans.

As he approached the restaurant, the lunch rush had yet to crowd the restaurant, and Bucky could count plenty of seats still left vacant and untouched - even better.

What Bucky hadn’t accounted for was to see a pretty faced blond already sitting by a table positioned against the window, head facing the wall across from the door as he eyed the simple decor of the family run restaurant. Two untouched drinks rested on the table he was seated on, the second positioned perfectly at the empty seat in front of him.

Fuck.

Looks like Steve liked showing up early when he had plans - good to know.

Bucky rolled at his shoulders, swiped his sweaty palms against his slacks, and stepped into the restaurant, shoes clinking sharp and loud against the floors a little more intensely than he was anticipating.

At the sound, Steve’s head turned in Bucky’s direction, his posture immediately straightening against the back of the chair as his eyes opened slightly in excitement.

“Bucky,” Steve gasped, practically glowing at the presence of the man. Jesus, the fact that everything he saw Steve do was in rose colored glasses only heightened his suspicions that Steve actually looked _happy_ to see him, but when he watched the gentle man rise from his seat and actually approach the brunet, a flush rising up the expanse of his cheeks and baby blues wide and endearing, well, Bucky damn near lost his balance.

“Hey.” smiled the blond, instinctively opening his arms for a hug. Accepting the invitation, Bucky gladly stepped into the man’s space, pressing his hands firm against Steve’s back as he pulled him in, embrace warm and comforting.

“Hey, yourself.” Bucky responded back as his head tucked against Steve’s shoulder, a low hum emerging from deep in his chest. Steve smelled like detergent and sunshine and acrylic paints, and he just wanted to dive into the sensation, let it sink into his shirt and hair so he could still feel the blond again even after they separated.

Christ, Bucky felt like a wreck, being invited into Steve’s space and counting the seconds which wasted away as they remained glued together. They were probably making a scene, hugging for so long, but that did little to bother the brunet, especially in knowing that Steve was clearly reciprocating with just as much energy.

Steve’s brain nearly short circuited at the contact, feeling heat travel down the length of his neck and settle down on his spine. The thick scent of Bucky’s cologne, the firm press of his chest against the blond’s, and the way he could feel Bucky’s stubble gently scrape against his cheek when he leaned in ignited a fire in Steve’s chest.

He was certain Bucky could see the smoke escaping from his ears when he stepped back, hands gently resting at Steve’s biceps as he gave the man a tender smile.

Jesus Christ, Steve felt dizzy and Bucky had _just_ got here, looking charming and handsome as ever as he entered the restaurant in professional wear. Though Steve chose his favorite button down to wear for the occasion, he couldn’t help but feel under dressed, even if the two had planned to eat in a family owned business. It was just lunch, so Steve worried about overdoing it, especially so early on in what could be a budding relationship between the two men.

But goddamn, Steve really didn’t care much for that anymore, he loved any excuse he’d have to see Bucky in a tie.

“You’re early.” smirked the blond as the two men made their way to the table, watching in careful detail the way Bucky stripped his coat off and rested it against his seat.

“Clearly not early enough, you’re already here.”

Steve simply shrugged, trying to ignore the way his skin prickled with heat at the sight of Bucky rolling his sleeves up. “Finished a project pretty quick, so my supervisor let me leave early for lunch.”

“You don’t have to get back earlier though, do you?” Bucky asked, eyebrow quipped.

Steve shook his head, “Not till 1.”

“That’s awfully nice of your boss.”

Steve didn’t miss the relief in Bucky’s tone, or the way gentleness swept over his expression, clearly grateful for the additional time the two would have. Being a star employee and dealing with the bullshit of unreasonable deadlines and extensive projects with little clarification made every frustrated moment worth it, for Steve being occasionally granted simple luxuries such as an extended lunch. Fury may work him to the bone, but simple requests like these were, surprisingly, met with little resistance.

Maybe he could tell Steve was single and a little desperate to mingle for some time now, and was more than willing to help the blond out where he saw fit.

Even if it was merely another 5 minutes with the man sitting beside him, he’d gladly take it, Steve genuinely liked spending time with Bucky.

“What about yourself?” responded back the blond, eyeing the time. It was hardly 11:30. “Surprised a busy guy like yourself got a break.”

“Meeting finished early,” Bucky answered simply, rolling up his sleeves until it rested comfortably above his elbows, exposing those gorgeous tattoos Steve had the honor of seeing all those weeks ago.

Weeks that felt so far away, weeks which ebbed and flowed into Steve’s thoughts at their own discretion, forcing the lead on his pencil to snap in half or the paints against his canvas to blur at the thought of that gorgeous smile and intricately painted arm.

Steve would deny it if anyone asked him he was thinking about Bucky while outlining details for his next project proposal, and he’d deny himself the luxury of admitting that he really did hope that Bucky liked men who were a little too tall and a little too awkward at social occasions.

But the fact that he was currently outlining each detail delicately outlined against Bucky’s forearm? Memorizing the designs and color and very images painted onto his beautiful skin? How he personally wanted to march back over to Barton’s household and shake his hand for perfectly embodying the true essence that was Bucky Barnes in the detail of heavy borders filled with stories?

Well, Steve couldn’t quite deny _that_.

Steve’s gaze slowly traveled up the length from Bucky’s wrist to his forearm, admiring the dip of his inner elbow and the way his biceps bulged underneath the fabric of his work shirt. Slowly, Steve followed the path up Bucky’s arm, over his broad shoulders, until he reached the strubble prickled flesh of his cheeks and jawline.

Warm eyes greeted him when Steve’s gaze drifted back to the brunet’s face, the corner of his lip curled into a smile.

“Enjoying yourself?” there was humor in his voice, light in his eyes. Steve couldn’t help but laugh, sitting back in his seat and letting his lips curl up into a playful smirk, lashes heavy and chest full of an excitement he’d gone so long without.

“Sure am.”

 

***

 

“Buck,” Steve called out, broad shoulders hunched over as his palm rested against his full and aching stomach. “Oh God, I might need to call an uber, I’m about to burst.” complained the blond, groaning his discomfort and cursing his entire existence for his disastrous decision to order more food when his date had advised him against it.

Bucky simply laughed, holding the door open for him as he practically crawled out from the family run restaurant, movements languid and exaggerating his current discomfort.

“Oh, so you’ll run 6 miles for fun but won’t even walk the 3 blocks needed to the subway station? That the kinda person you are, Rogers?”

“Hey, isn’t there that saying - new year new me?” the corners of Steve’s blue eyes crinkled and a goofy smile spread across his cheeks, flooding his body in warm energy as Bucky scoffed.

“Christ, it’s the 23rd of January. Aren’t you a little late?”

“It’s the effort that counts, Barnes.”

Walking beside the brunet, Steve shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat, admiring the way Bucky’s breath ghosted over his lips after every word he shared, the way his cheeks flooded with color and his lips contrasted against the pale hue of his chilled skin everytime they twitched or curled to form sweet words amongst their idle conversation.  

If he missed a word or two here or there, or simply nodded to a question he didn’t fully pay attention to, Steve couldn’t exactly blame himself, he could hardly even count the dozens of distractions forcing his attention away.

Bucky radiated heat like pure sunlight, the few inches seperating their shoulders from each other already filling Steve’s aching body with much needed relief. The brunet was intelligent and kind and unbelievably charming, and Steve hated the way he clung to every single detail of Bucky, how he drank him in hungry to learn more, memorize the very last details of his face.

He admired the way his voice flowed like velvet and how strands of hair beckoned to spill out from his pony tail, how he joked and laughed and teased at Steve like he wasn’t made of glass, like he could take it, like he wasn’t an overly emotional thing who cried or bitched about every little thing just because he dared to show anyone passion when holding a conversation.

Bucky looked at him like Steve deserved the attention, like every word that flowed from his lips was pure poetry and genuinely interested him. The light in Bucky’s eye whenever Steve started a new statement or added commentary wasn’t fabricated, he watched it gleam against the haziness of New York’s afternoon fog and he blossomed under the attention.

Lunch was everything Steve could have asked for and more, and he counted the streets until they’d reach the subway, hoping the minutes would bleed into centuries so he wouldn’t have to separate from Bucky’s pleasant company.

As they bounded down the steps of the station and waited on the platform for the train to arrive, Steve watched the dramatic shift in Bucky’s body language.

“Oh,” Bucky gasped as he turned towards Steve, eyes wide as he turned his body towards the taller man. Steve perked an eyebrow, curious as to what spurred such a response. “I didn’t even ask you - how did your project go? The one you worked on this weekend. I know it was kind of a big deal, did everything work out?”

Idle conversations churned around them, footsteps clamoring to their left and right, and Steve couldn’t help but smile.

“Yeah, actually,” Steve smirked, cheeks burning with color at the simple sentiment of Bucky remembering such a minor detail. He was such a sucker for thoughtfulness. “Got it all done. Took all weekend, but it was worth it.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” Steve smiled, “I wanted to have next weekend free.”

Bucky quirked an eyebrow.

“Was hoping a certain someone might be free, too.” responded back the blond, soft and sweet against the heavy hum of conversations surrounding them.

“And who’s this certain someone?” Bucky leaned in closer, unable to hide the amusement from his face and the way electricity trailed up his spine. His palms were sweating. Nerves fraying. Christ, Steve knew how to make him come undone with nothing more than the tooth-rotting tone of his voice and the intensity of his pretty baby blue eyes.

“Just some jerk from Brooklyn. Easy on the eyes, doesn’t know when to hush up. Sound familiar?”

Bucky listening to the resounding thrum of the subway, watching the way Steve’s blond hair was tousled and teased from the approaching train zipping past them.

Bucky smirked, eyes bright and chest full.

“Never heard of ‘em.”  

 

 ***

 

“Update. Now.”

Bucky snapped at his gum, a stupid grin etched onto his face as he leaned against Clint’s counter.

His cheeks hurt, the dull sort of ache which hadn’t quite faded even when he woke up the following morning. Felt like he’d been smiling nonstopped since Monday, though that was nothing worth complaining over.

“We’re meeting again tomorrow,” Bucky answered simply, trying to hide the dreaminess in his tone. Even if Barton couldn’t hear him, he could sure as hell see just how sappy the brunet was being, practically melting into the floor underneath them and leaving behind a warm, soft puddle of pliancy. Jesus, he was long gone, and Clint was utterly amused by it. ”Rogers said it was his turn to choose a place to eat, said it was one of his favorite places to go for lunch.”

“I told you he was a sucker for sentimentality, he must really like you if he’s using that trick on only the second date.”

“Shut up.” Bucky smiled, sinking down to rest his head against his forearm in an attempt to hide the stains of pink already painting his cheeks. Bucky watched as Clint’s gaze traveled down the length of his friend, bringing a hand over to ruffle at the lose strands of hair covering Bucky’s face.

“Christ, Barnes, you getting any work done? Stark’ll fire you if he see’s you slackin’ cause you got yourself a pretty new thing to occupy your mind.”

“I ain’t got no one yet,” Bucky spat, brows furrowed, “Just cause the first date goes well don’t mean it’s gonna be all rainbows and flowers from now on.”

“A true pessimist at heart,” Clint rolled his eyes, “Just don’t go bringing that in tomorrow, I don’t want you ruining this after all of our hard work.”

“So sorry your Holiness, I promise to ensure a successful second date with Sir Rogers.” Bucky straightened, face still flushed even as he attempted a serious expression.

Clint simply scoffed, unable to repress his laughter.

“Jesus Buck, you’re a wreck.”

 

*** 

 

“What’s your favorite thing to draw?” Bucky asked in between bites of his sandwich, watching the way Steve popped a crispy fry into his mouth.

Steve gave the question some thought, humming in thought. “I mean, buildings and scenery are nice, but I’d rather draw people. Everyone’s bone structure is different and even identical twins have their differences, so being able to capture that can be gratifying.” If they ever got to the point where he could show Bucky his work, he wondered if the brunet could tell that Steve’s backgrounds often looked messy and rushed, details he overlooked during sketches or his more personal work.

Bucky nodded, enjoying the honesty in his answer. “That why you always keep your sketchbook with you?”

“Don’t have it with me now, do I?” Steve quipped, raising an eyebrow.

“Shame, ain’t no better place to get inspiration then a busy restaurant in the heart of lower Manhattan.”

“Your place would be a good spot.”

Bucky damn near spit out his drink, a hearty laugh erupting from the blond’s chest. Red was straining down Bucky’s neck, and Steve graciously handed him a napkin, that shit eating grin still plastered on his face.

“You’re terrible, Rogers, fuckin’ awful.”

Steve simply batted his lashes, relishing in the compliment.

They finished lunch quickly after, bounding down the streets of Lower Manhattan on their way back to work.

For a Wednesday, Bucky was surprised by how energized he felt.

“Someone mentioned he was free this weekend?”

Steve walked beside Bucky, cold hands stuffed into the heat of his pockets as he exhaled a low hum, as if in consideration.

“Maybe,” he shrugged, giving the brunet an interested look, “Depends on who’s asking.”

“I am,” Bucky answered, gently nudging his shoulder against Steve’s as they approached the crosswalk. “How about Friday night?”

Steve couldn’t refrain the smile that broke past his face, shy and gentle from the invitation. “Sure,” he answered simply, trying to hide his excitement, “You thinking of anything in particular?”

“We _could_ go somewhere,” Bucky began, arm pressed close against Steve’s, hand sliding out from his pocket. “Or,” he continued, slipping his arm into Steve’s, pressing the two of them closer together. Steve stiffened from the sudden contact, pupils blown out as he attempted to hide his expression under his hair, embarrassed. Bucky watched a blush course down the length of Steve’s neck, vibrant and alive against his pale, milky skin, erupting with color. He felt the taller man walk a little closer to him, reciprocating the act as they headed towards the subway.

“Or?” Steve pressed on, curiosity heavy in his tone.

“We could go to my place. Make dinner, play a movie or two.” Bucky offered, drinking in every detail of the blond beside him. “I’m kind of a movie fanatic, so whatever genre you’re into, I’m pretty sure I got it.” winked the shorter man, to which Steve simply rolled his eyes.

“I’d like that.” Steve answered simply, a gentle smile on his face, “Just no horror.”

“Aw, now where’s my excuse for cuddling up against you?”

“You just fuckin’ do it, that’s how, Barnes.” quipped the blond, to which Bucky exhaled a hearty laugh, tugging him in closer.

When Friday arrived, Bucky had spent the better part of three hours polishing and cleaning his apartment until the floorboards themselves gleamed and squeaked. Bucky didn’t remember a time where his apartment looked better, and that was even considering the time he cleaned before his parents had visited him after settling in Brooklyn. His laundry was done, movies properly organized, and he had already set the water to boil, the vegetables and ingredients for their dinner strewn across the kitchen counter - ready and waiting.

Bucky tugged a loose strand of hair back behind his ear, giving his back a quick stretch and crack after having spent so much time hunched over.

Everything was in order, and after providing a full report of the last few days to Romanoff, she personally marched herself over to his apartment an hour before Steve’s arrival, handed him a bottle of red wine and slapped a condom in his other hand.

“James,” she began, red hair framing the length of her face as she stepped in close and personal, eyes dark with severity. “When two people love each other _very_ much -”

“Oh my _God_ , Nat,” Bucky scoffed, unable to hide his amusement at the terrible, terrible line she was about to give him. “You drive all the way out here just to make that joke?”

“Actually, yes,” she smiled, an eyebrow perked as she leaned against the doorframe, “I have another client coming into the office in 25 minutes, but yes, absolutely worth it. I take it you’ll be too busy to offer me an update by midnight?” she winked.

“Probably not,” Bucky answered, and that gaged a surprised response from the red head. “Don’t wanna rush anything,” the brunet answered simply, glancing at the golden wrapper in his hand, amused that she had given him only a single packaged rubber, “I really like him, so I’d like to take things slow.”

Natasha nodded, clearly amused. “Regardless, I hope you two have a wonderful evening. If you need anything, you know how to reach me.”

“Thanks, Nat.” Bucky leaned in close and took the woman into his arms, giving her a genuine, firm hug. “I’ll be sure to tell you if I fuck up.”

“Which so help me Barnes, if you _do -”_

“Yeah yeah, you’ll bury me a hundred feet deep under Oymyakon, I got it.” he answered, and watched as she turned away and bounded down the corridor of his apartment, heels resounding against the hardwood.

Bucky had set the wine into the fridge, and proceeded to pace across his apartment, watching the seconds bleed into minutes as he tried to discover any lingering imperfections.

It wasn’t long until there was a knock on the door, resonating and damn near knocking Bucky off his feet. After picking up his scattered brain from the floorboards, the brunet gave himself one last quick look over before stepping towards the doorway.

_Deep breath, Barnes._

_It’s just Steve._

Somehow that thought did little to relieve the continuously pumping cortisol that was drowning his bloodstream, but hey, least the last thing he’d see before going was the cute blond from the subway.

Upon opening his door, Bucky felt sunlight flood into his apartment, melting into the floorboards and dissolving through his flesh like it always belonged there, like he’d gone so long without it and only truly felt alive in this one, fleeting moment.

It was sappy, he knew that, but being with Steve did that to him.

Bright blue eyes and rosy cheeks met him at the door, and Bucky felt a stupid smile slowly roll onto his face, natural and so terribly easy.

“Hi,” he greeted, a bit dazed from the surge of emotions that came flooding at once “Glad you could make it.”

“Wouldn’t have missed it.” Steve responded, stepping inside as he slipped his messenger bag open, taking out a container. “I brought ice cream - hope you like rocky road. It’s okay if you don’t, I also got - ”

“I love it.” Bucky responded a little too quickly, closing the door behind him. His heart was going to jump right out of his chest before Steve even finished his sentence.

The blond clearly lit up from the immediate response, relieved. “Really?” he smiled, eyes crinkling at the corner.

No, but now he did.

“You can pop that into the freezer, I’ll set your stuff down.”

Nodding, Steve handed his messenger bag to the brunet, peeling off his jacket and navigating into the kitchen. He hummed at the pleasant scent which greeted him, setting the ice cream inside as he approached the island.

“I hope you’re not too hungry,” Bucky called out from the living room, out of Steve’s line of sight. “I would’ve been fine with preparing dinner, but I know you were really adamant about cooking together-”  
  
“Still am,” smirked the blond, admiring the strewn out ingredients that rested before him, “Food tastes better if two people make it.”

Bucky couldn’t help but agree, he had a point. Hanging up Steve’s coat and resting his messenger bag nearby, Bucky headed back into the kitchen, “Well, it’ll be a little bit until everything’s done, but if you’re hungry, I fried up some dumplings. Don’t want you keeling over before the evening starts.”

“How considerate,” Steve smirked, reaching over and popping a single steamy dumpling into his mouth, humming in approval. “So,” he began, wiping his fingers clean with a napkin, “Is my host going to offer me the grand tour of his apartment? I really wanna see the posters you have up.” He raised an eyebrow, cocking his head in the direction of the strewn out artwork.

“Sure,” Bucky smiled, static ringing in his ears as they navigated back into the living room.

If Steve was still willing to spend the evening with him after finding out what a terrible movie fanatic he was, then Christ, he’d be taking Nat, Clint, _and_ Sam out to dinner in thanks for their efforts of helping jumpstart their meeting.

CD’s and vinyl’s were neatly organized adjacent to the television, and movies engulfed shelf after shelf. Bucky’s apartment was small and compact, customary of any New York living space, but he had due with the space he had.

Posters stretched long and wide across the walls, filling empty spaces and exposing some of his favorite films in plain sight. Steve stepped casually forward, drinking in the sight before him.

It went without saying that he was a sucker for art, regardless of the shape or form it came in.

In his eyes, collecting movie posters or albums really wasn’t much different from all the time and money he spent buying artwork from rising artists here in his own backyard or online, and Steve couldn’t help but feel himself admire everything that so delicately framed the walls, enjoying all of the new information he was getting about the brunet.

“What’s that one?” Steve pointed, directed at the obscure blue poster of what seemed to be an astronaut with a light beaming off his face. “A space movie?” He couldn’t quite gage a feel of it.

“Oh,” Bucky responded, feigning normalcy in his tone, “Not exactly space - but I guess you’re not entirely wrong, does have to do with this weird alien-like creature.” Bucky clarified, a little anxious that Steve seemed so invested on _this_ particular poster of his. It was one of the most minimalistic he had, so maybe that was why the artist seemed so pulled by it, interested in deciphering whatever details he could grab onto. When the blond continued focusing on it, eyeing Bucky for more information, the brunet proceeded.

“Was made back in the early 80’s, it’s a damn great horror movie, fantastic cinematography and the everyone in the makeup crew was a goddamn genius. John Carpenter’s one of my favorite directors, you might know him from that one movie he did, Halloween.”

“The mask guy?” Steve clarified, searching Bucky’s walls to see if he might have a poster of that film was well.

“Mhm, he’s done some of my favorite work.”

“Maybe I’ll check out his films sometime,” Steve smirked, eyeing the ominous poster one last time, “It’s been a while since I’ve had a good scare.”

“Might wanna choose another film then, Rogers, you probably wouldn’t like it.”

Steve’s eyes refocused back on the brunet beside him, eyeing the length of his frame as he soaked in the comment. “I was kidding about the whole horror movie thing, I don’t mind them.” conceded the blond, mischief in his eyes.

“Well, this one might not catch your fancy. It’s famous for a reason.”

The blond raised an eyebrow, as if in challenge. Steve almost had the mind to suggest they watch the movie tonight, to showcase his thick skin against some scary movie.

But he quickly let the thought go, much more invested in seeing the rest of Bucky’s apartment and learning more about the scruffy faced man.

After the two had circled around Bucky’s living room, eyeing and admiring the numerous family photographs Bucky had lined against the walls, the two settled back into the kitchen and commenced preparing dinner.

Steve was responsible for chopping veggies while Bucky prepared the curry broth, stirring the pot as the two continued their conversation from earlier.

“What’s it like being the oldest sibling?” Steve couldn’t help but ask, chopping a carrot.

“Demanding - you always get stuck on babysitting duty and someone’s always upset about something,” Bucky smirked, fondness heavy in his tone, “Thank God my youngest sibling is a boy, I dunno how I would have handled having three sisters, two was enough.”

“Did you all get along?”

“Yeah,” Bucky answered, pinching salt into the broth, “can’t imagine it any different, no matter how much they drove me up the goddamn wall. They seem to be doing alright, so I guess I didn’t fuck them up too bad from all the time I took care of them.”

That garnered a laugh from Steve, and Bucky couldn’t help but feel his chest swell with pride, eyes drifting to the blond. “How about you, Rogers? You mentioned you were an only child?”

Steve nodded, listening to the glide of the blade as it sunk into the meat of the carrot, “Yeah, little hard to imagine having a big family likes yours, sounds exhausting, but also really rewarding.”

“It can be,” Bucky answered, raising the temperature of the stove, “but same can be said about all families.”

Steve couldn’t help but smile, and Bucky was one sorry sonuvabitch, damn near burning himself when he caught glimpse of the crinkles that formed around Steve’s eyes, or the way his lips curled shyly at the corners, faint and gentle but so damn obvious.

Jesus Christ.

Bucky just wanted to close the distance between them already.

 

*** 

 

There was something about Bucky that made Steve lose track of time.

From the lunch dates they spent together to the nights Steve spent aimlessly lost in thought, imagination lush with creativity at the possibilities of how this evening might go, the blond felt warmth flare outward from his chest and settle against the highpoints of his cheeks, down in the depth of his belly and in the tense knots of his shoulders.

Steve had already spent countless hours relishing in the thought of Bucky’s heat, the way he ignited a flame deep in his core which only continued to burn brighter the more fuel he fed him with.

Gentle glances.

The graze of rough knuckles against his hand when they walked beside each other.

Sweet words and good morning texts fueling this flame that continued to rage and burn in Steve’s chest, vivid and breathing and so damn _distracting_ when it bled into drafting reports at work or finishing canvas paintings.

Christ, it really has been a while since Steve had considered seeing someone, let alone someone who pulled him as intensely as Bucky did with him.

He shouldn’t be surprised by how ridiculous having a crush made him, but regardless he was, and he couldn’t help but be a bit embarrassed by it.

Even now, with his body slumped against the brunet’s, sharing idle conversation as his body nestled against Bucky’s on the sofa, Steve felt the the seconds bleed out into minutes as he memorized the curvature of Bucky’s body, feeling himself float at the sensory overload of it all.

He let himself drift on the scent of Bucky’s body wash and shampoo, the prickly feel of his stubble when it scraped against his forehead, the sturdiness of his shoulders in supporting his weight and the sweet, _sweet_ vibrato of his voice when he shared stories of his childhood.

Steve counted the continuous beating of Bucky’s heart, admiring the way it roared against his chest and thundered through his cozy living room.

Steve felt silly, the way his body felt languid and soft with Bucky’s presence, how his skin itched to be touched and suck in the heat of his fingertips, body melting with ease and comfort and _Jesus_ , Steve couldn’t believe how much he’d missed cuddling.

He felt his lips buzzing with life, sending jolts of electricity until it coursed through his entire body and splintered across his limbs and veins like bolts of lightning. As the feeling ebbed and flowed, coursing through his blood and filling all of the empty spaces of his chest, the blond slowly lifted his head from Bucky’s shoulder, nose bumping against his jawline.

Steve almost felt shy from all of the attention Bucky was dedicating to him, felt the tips of his ears warm up as he concentrated on the intense gaze of Bucky’s eyes, the dip of his cupid’s bow and the sweetness of his breath as it ghosted over his lips.

The arm which rested over Steve’s shoulders slowly slid down the length of the blond’s spine, and Steve nearly sighed at the contact, melting into it. His hand which rested comfortably on Bucky’s knee slowly rose up the length of the man’s leg, occasionally letting his thumb dip down into the sensitive underside of Bucky’s thigh; teasing. Steve slowly repeated the act, letting each touch and graze trail a little higher with each repeated action, until he decided to settle his fingers against the meat of Bucky’s upper thigh, giving the muscle a firm squeeze.

Steve gave a slow blink and looked back up at his date, lashes fanning against delicate cheekbones. He’d been told his lashes were killer, and the entranced look Bucky returned only solidified that argument.

Jesus, he wanted, he wanted -

The alarm in the kitchen sent Steve flying halfway across the sofa, heart thudding and ready to explode.

“Fuck!” he gasped, half delirious as his heart damn near jumped out of his throat.

Steve’s right hand flew to his chest, neck craning back to glance at the source of noise. Bucky’s phone was blaring in the kitchen, the alarm he’d set finally signaling that their wait was over.

“Guess the food’s ready.” Bucky smirked, trying to hide his disappointment at the spoiled mood. This made for a good learning experience to finally change the fucking song of his alarm. “You alright?” he asked, a little amused by the shocked expression of his date.

“Great.” Steve breathed, willing his heart to relax, “Just - just great.”

Bucky couldn’t help but smile as he navigated back into the kitchen, turning off the music which continued to blast on the kitchen counter. “Didn’t know you were so jumpy.” he joked, his skin still buzzing from having Steve so close to him just a few short moments ago. His body was already mourning for the lost contact.

“Yeah, well, I didn’t know you set your phone alarm to the devil’s music.” huffed the blond, following shortly behind.

“Metallica; so honestly, you’re not even wrong.” Bucky smirked, and Steve punched at his arm, unable to stop the litany of chuckles that bubbled past his lips.

“Christ, Barnes, you got me good. You sure that wasn’t planned?”

Bucky made his way over to the pot that poured steam into the kitchen, admiring the sight of the perfectly cooked curry and steamed rice.

“Swear to God, if it was, I’d have made it wait another five minutes.”

“Only five?” Steve leaned against the counter, hips cocked to the side.

Bucky raised an eyebrow.

 

***

 

“Alright,” Steve began, face illuminated with a smile as he straightened his posture, turning towards Bucky. The brunet sat slouched against the arm of the couch, Steve’s foot nestled comfortably against the meat of his thigh as his hand squeezed and rubbed at his knee. Their plates rested empty on the table, drinks half done as they mellowed in the warmth of a sated meal. They hadn’t left the sofa for over an hour, a container of chilled water and the bottle of wine a mere arm’s length away.

“How about this:” the blond considered, swiping his tongue over his bottom lip, “I have a piercing, I have a dog, or I grew up wanting to be a nurse. Which is the lie?”

Bucky tilted his head back against the sofa cushion, contemplating.

“Well, when you’re a kid, it usually changes every week with what kinda profession you wanna go into, so I’m pretty sure the nurse one is true,” he said with confidence, giving Steve’s knee a firm pat as if to validate his argument. “The one question I have is - does the piercing come in a pair, or is it singular?”

Steve simply shrugs, not offering an answer.

Bucky expected the lack of clarity.

“Well, given the fact that when I first saw you I never took you for someone who’d have a tattoo, can’t really base first impressions on the piercing either.”

Steve rose an eyebrow.

“Though to be fair, that dog one is kind of out there, too. If someone has a dog or a pet that’s usually one of the first things they tend to mention. You didn’t have the fella with you on your jog, and I haven’t been shown no photos of some pooch.”

“This gonna be a psychoanalysis of my life or what?”

“Okay. Okay-” Bucky nodded, sitting up and returning a serious stare to the relaxed blond. “The lie is that you have a piercing. I don’t see anything on your ears and nothing on your tongue, no holes in your lip or even on your nose, so _that’s_ where I’m betting my money.”

Steve simply smiled, and Bucky watched a faint blush form across his cheeks, bashful.

“Didn’t consider that it could be _under_ my clothes?”

Jesus Christ.

No, no he really fucking didn’t.

Now it was Bucky’s turn to go red.

“You’re cute when you blush.” Steve smiled sweetly, shifting a little in his seat. His tone was low and gentle, teasing.

“Yeah, sure, says the guy who’s perpetually always red in the face.” Bucky spat back, bringing a hand over to squeeze at the blond’s ankle. Steve responded by digging the sole of his foot against Bucky’s leg, feigning annoyance at the comment. “So, you gonna make my night and tell me where it is? Or do I gotta keep guessing until I get an answer? I’m a patient guy, I got all night.”

“And where’s the fun in that?” chuckled the blond, reaching over for his drink, “better to keep you guessing for a bit longer, if you’re so damn interested.”

Bucky watched the way Steve’s tongue swiped out to glide against his plush bottom lip, the way his teeth sunk into the cushiony flesh to accomplish nothing but tease the brunet all the more.

He watched the way Steve’s lashes fanned against the milky skin of his cheekbones, how his lips pursed in a devilishly sweet smile as he relished in withholding such information. The power of keeping Bucky guessing; leaving him on edge. Bucky had practically felt the floorboards underneath him shift out of place, dissipating under the weight of how unbelievably attractive one man can be. The strong curve of his jawline, baby blues so deep Bucky could feel himself drowning in them - everything about Steve was setting the nerves in Bucky’s body on fire, pulling him in and demanding his attention each time he found a new detail to love about the taller man.

Like how freckles and moles outlined the length of Steve’s face.

Bucky couldn’t help but trail his gaze to the dusted freckles which kissed across the bridge of his nose, delicate and sweet and mere overlooked details overshadowed during the time they spent together in busy restaurants and hectic New York subways.

But now, in the confines of his apartment, Bucky just wanted to lean over and count the freckles on Steve’s face.

With his lips.

“Christ,” Bucky sighed, a little breathless, “You’re a terrible tease, Rogers.”

“Says the guy who’s had his hand on my legs all night.” Steve smirked, and Bucky watched as Steve’s gaze traveled down

“ _You_ were the one who put your foot on _my_ thigh.”

Steve hummed, as if in consideration, “You sure? Dunno if _I_ started this.”

Giving a playful push on the meat of Bucky’s thigh, the brunet reacted by bringing a hand up and pinching at the sole of Steve’s foot, giving his foot a squeeze as his fingertips ran across the underside, teasing and devious.

Steve’s eyes grew wide and he choked on a laugh, keeping his lips sealed as he tried to yank his foot away, but Bucky’s grip was relentless, continuing to drag his nails against the length of Steve’s arch.

“Ticklish?”

“Nope.” Steve quipped, accentuating the p as he wiggled in his seat, trying to keep the laugh from bubbling up his throat.

“Hmm,” hummed the brunet, hitting a spot that made Steve exhale a high gasp, causing him to yank his foot away, right out of Bucky’s grip.

Bucky couldn’t stop the wolfish grin that spread across his face as Steve brought his knees close against his chest, looking small as he crowded up against the sofa’s armrest.

“You ticklish all over?” Bucky couldn’t help but ask. He couldn’t wait to find out.

“Shut it.”

“Ya made a sweet little sound just now.”

“Fuck off,” Steve laughed, all the piss and vinegar out of his tone and replaced with nothing but tooth rotting sweetness. Steve could feel the heat rise up the length of his spine, kissing at the back of his neck and settling on the highpoints of his cheeks. Part of him wanting Buck to just crawl over to his side of the couch and test at every corner of his skin, until he found Steve’s most responsive of spots, spots which sang the second they were giving even the faintest of attention. Steve imagined the drag of calloused fingertips over the juncture of his ribs, Bucky’s nose nestled against the soft spot behind his ear.

Jesus, the want was setting sparks off in his veins, and Steve gave his date a challenging look, watching the way Bucky’s hand inched closer to him, closer, across the cushion of the sofa, right until it was a mere few inches away from grazing the skin of his ankle.

Steve never broke eye contact, provocation in his gaze.

“Watcha plannin’?” he smirked, voice almost breathless.

“Nothin,” Bucky shrugged, sliding closer, “Nothing at all.”

 

***

 

“Last train’s coming soon.” Steve mumbled, simply burrowing his face deeper into the dip of Bucky’s neck. Hours passed lazily, movies played idly, and Steve had curled himself into the warmth of Bucky’s body eons ago, unable to remember a time where he wasn’t nestled into the man’s space and heat.

“Guess I should get going.” he sighed, still making no efforts to move.

“Yeah, guess so.” Bucky responded back, voice low and sweet as his fingers continued tracing patterns across Steve’s back, his nose burrowed in Steve’s tousled blond hair as his lips grazed against the man’s skin.

The hours he spent nestled against Bucky, listening to the soothing thrum of his heartbeat as it bounded against his chest cavity, left the man drifting and relaxed for hours.

Even as the two finally peeled themselves away from the sofa, grabbing Steve’s possessions before they bounded for the door, the blond felt warmth continue to flow through his veins, gentle and sweet and filling him with a sense of calm he had gone so long without.

“Hey, Bucky-” Steve called out, slipping his shoes on as the brunet handed him his jacket. “Look, I had a really great time tonight.” said the blond, voice low as his cheeks flared with color; embarrassed.

“It just felt right, y’know?” he glowed, a little shy in returning the man’s gaze.

“Yeah,” Bucky sighed, clearly dazed from having soaked up so much of Steve’s sunlight, “I’m really glad you could make it, tonight was great.”

As Steve slipped on his coat, bringing his messenger bag over his shoulder and securing it in place, he took hold of the doorknob and stepped out into the hallway, turning back around to properly say goodbye to his host.

As Bucky’s gaze trailed up the length of Steve’s frame, drinking in the expanse of his shoulders and traveling up to that sweet expression of his, Bucky all but smiled, in disbelief over how smoothly the evening had gone.

Steve radiated pure sunlight and Bucky couldn’t help but sigh into the contact, feeling entirely too blessed for having spent so much valuable time with this beautiful man.

“Bucky?”

The sound of that timid voice brought Bucky back to reality, his gaze soft and movements a little anxious. He looked into the gorgeous hue of Steve’s eyes, watched them gloss over with hesitancy as his lips slowly opened, revealing his soft pink tongue as it smoothed over his bottom lip.

A nervous tick that Bucky would never quite get over.

He’d seen Steve do that act a dozen times before. On the subway rides where he was concentrating on drawing, during their conversations when he listened to Bucky with complete concentration, yet it was something in this moment; where they stood so close against each other, the doorway already open and goodnights on the tips of their tongues, that Bucky just watched in amazement as Steve stared at him, clearly nervous and trying to will the question out from his throat.

“Yeah?” Bucky answered softly, coaxing the question out from this beautiful man as he couldn’t resist the urge to step a little closer, leaning his body closer to Steve’s.

“Can I -” he stopped, shuffling in place, voice dying in his throat, “Can I kiss you?”

Heat flared up the length of Bucky’s neck at the question, and he watched Steve grow antsy as the silence spread heavy and thick between them, already averting his gaze.

“Sorry, nevermind," the blond began, making an effort to laugh the whole thing off, “I shouldn't-”

“Rogers,” Bucky began, voice low and thick with arousal, “Come here.”

Bucky listened to the hitch in Steve’s throat as the taller man gingerly stepped forward, body tense and shy until he stepped so close that Bucky could taste the wine in his breath before his lips even pressed against his.

Bucky’s hands settled against Steve’s slim hips, and he gently coaxed the blond closer to him, chests pressed flush together as he felt Steve’s hands settle against his shoulders.

Bucky watched a rush of red blossom from the blond's bottom lip once the weight of his teeth detached from the soft skin, swollen and tender from all he had bitten it this evening, and Bucky swallowed down the moan that beckoned to escape his throat at the sight of Steve so vulnerable and pliant against him, hesitant to be the first to lean in but clearly aching for the moment to close the distance between them.

Bucky’s gaze slowly trailed down the length of Steve’s beautiful face and settled on those cherry red lips of his, lingering.

He wondered if they tasted as good as they looked.

Unable to keep waiting, Bucky pressed Steve in closer and leaned forward.

The kiss was gentle, chaste, a simple graze of skin on skin, and yet the gesture sent a volt of electricity through Bucky’s body, down his spine until it splintered across the floor underneath him. Bucky was almost certain that the force of it cracked at the floorboards, the moment so electrifying that when he pulled away, forehead brushing against Steve’s as he gazed into those blown out baby blues of his, he was amused at the satisfying grin that emerged on his face.

Steve’s hands were firm against him, hips pressed flush against his thigh that _Christ_ , it was so difficult not to concentrate on the sensation of Steve hot and burning against him. Bucky willed to keep his hands planted against Steve’s hips, and when the two finally did seperate, Steve stared at Bucky with that serene smile of his that made Bucky’s chest ache and his limbs lock into place.

Steve would never quite understand just how beautiful he was, how radiant he was with that goofy smile of his and tousled blond hair, and Bucky could only hope that when Steve looked in the mirror, he saw exactly what Bucky could see this very moment.

“Thanks again for tonight,” Steve smiled, unwrapping his hands from Bucky’s shoulders as he reinforced the distance between them once again, “I’ll see you soon, Buck”

“Yeah.” smiled the brunet, using the door frame to keep him steady.

“Night.” Steve said, voice low and sweet as he already made his way down the hall of Bucky’s apartment complex, grip loose against his messenger bag.

Bucky worried at his bottom lip as he watched the taller man head down the corridor, grabbing his bag quickly and slipping it against the door frame to keep the door from locking.

_You probably shouldn’t do this_ , he thought to himself as he headed in Steve’s direction, adrenaline fueling his veins and fire in his pulse. _You should wait like we agreed_ —

Too late.

“Steve –“ Bucky called out, and Steve did, turning to face the brunet.

The impact sent Steve stumbling a few steps, his back crashing against the nearest wall as a deep groan rose up his throat, right into Bucky’s mouth. Their teeth clanked, skin hot and flush as Steve opened his mouth enthusiastically, granting Bucky access as he felt the brunet’s tongue explore him, taste him, drive him up the goddamn wall as tremors ran up the length of his spine.

Without thinking Steve wrapped two hands on Bucky’s shoulders, moving him effortlessly until the brunet’s back was pressed against the wall, Steve stepping forward to close the distance as he towered over the shorter man, wasting no time to press himself back against him.

Steve kissed Bucky with all of the fervor and passion that had been left to simmer this last week, and sucked on his bottom lip like hard candy, certain that the force was so strong he was going to bruise.

He didn’t know how easily Bucky bruised, but the thought of seeing him Monday morning with a glowing purple lip made his chest swell with pride and arousal.

He wanted to see it.

He _really_ wanted to see it.

Bucky gripped roughly at Steve’s collar, pulling him closer, _closer_ , until the man’s chest was pressed so firmly against his that he could feel Steve’s heart beat racing and thundering against his own. It was comforting, exhilarating, overwhelming.

They really should have done this while in the privacy of Bucky’s apartment, instead of in the middle of the hall, but Bucky didn’t care, and it didn’t look like Steve did either.

What mattered was that it was finally happening, and as Bucky gasped into Steve’s mouth, he felt the taller man step even closer, the heat he was radiating so powerful that it borderlined on suffocating. Bucky felt Steve’s nimble fingers gently caress up the length of his neck, settling against his jaw and cupping at the brunets cheek, keeping him in place as he drank his fill of the shorter man.

When Steve finally did break away, eyes glossy with arousal and mirth, Bucky could see the glint of satisfaction in his gaze, reinforced by the sheepish smile the blond wore.

“Sorry—“ smirked the taller man against Bucky’s lips, cheeks flared with color and fingers drifting down to curl against the soft fabric of Bucky’s shirt, “Been wanting to do that all night.” Steve whispered, lips swollen from how hard he had been kissing Bucky a moment ago.

“Christ, me too.” laughed the brunet, running his hands up the length of Steve’s torso and settling on that cute waist of his.  “I'm sorry too, didn’t mean to be impulsive.”

“Impulsive can be good sometimes.” Steve smiled, clearly still riding the high of it all. The blond settled into Bucky's space for a few more sparing seconds, taking a moment to compose himself before he muttered softly, “You alright for me to go?”  

“Mhm,” Bucky hummed, letting go of Steve’s flannel, “You should get out of here before I drag you back inside.”

Steve raised an eyebrow in amusement, unable to stop the chuckle from slipping past his lips. That didn’t sound like a bad plan, but even with the high strung energy buzzing between them, Bucky didn’t want to rush into this, and neither did Steve.

Waiting would make it all the better.

“See you Monday for lunch?” Steve asked softly, anticipation in his tone.

“’Course.” Bucky answered, eyes heavy and body light.

“Great,” sighed the blond, smoothing away his flyaway hairs and giving his cheeks a quick pat before heading back down Bucky’s apartment complex. “Night, Buck.” he smiled, looking smitten before he leaned back in for one last kiss.

Bucky let himself relish in the sensation, watching Steve disappear into the stairwell as he willed his heart to settle from damn near ripping out of his chest.

Christ.

He hoped there’d be many more where that came from.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me on tumblr @badbrooklynbitch ♡✧( ु•⌄• ) Tune in next time for some steaminess


End file.
